


I Would Like One Family Please

by Celestial_Void_the_3rd



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: #Allblondesarepossibleassassins, A little bit of sucidal ideation, Badassmarinette, Family fic!, Fluff and Angst, No extreme salt or bashing, Okay there's really not that much graphic violence but it's there, humanized characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:07:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 52,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26716498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celestial_Void_the_3rd/pseuds/Celestial_Void_the_3rd
Summary: Batman and Alfred Pennyworth, the classic duo. All good heroes need their loyal allies. Marinette is Damian's Alfred, she knows this. She's been raised to be his Alfred since birth. A faithful and capable servant to the future heir of the League of Assassins. But what if all she wanted was a family?A story where Marinette finds that she is more than a servant and makes her own family in the process (has the theme of acceptance and denial).
Relationships: Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson/Starfire
Comments: 500
Kudos: 503





	1. Khadima Al Ghul (or Marinette because screw being a maidservant called maidservant)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette is tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I swear it gets better after the first few chapters. 
> 
> Please comment and if you have ideas for how the fic should go you can write them down. I like playing around with ideas, even if I don't end up using them. 
> 
> *Note I'm going to alternate between maidservant and servant. It doesn't really matter which one I use at this point, maidservant just means female servant and since you know Marinette is female... the maid part doesn't really matter.

_ Damian Damian DAMIAN DAMIAN!  _ It was the first thing to run through her head every time she woke in the  _ hideous  _ green liquid that forced her back to life. Was  _ Damian _ still alive or had she failed? She erupted from the Pits, her eyes scanning wildly for  _ Damian _ . 

**_There!_ **

Her master stood on the edge of the pit, looking at her with disdain. She ignored it, focusing on the instant relief. Damian was alive! She hadn’t failed! 

She could feel Talia’s eyes on her as she forced her eyes closed, dipping back into the horrid liquid. She was thankful that for all her hatred, Talia allowed this one thing. A moment to meditate, to reign in the violent urges now that Damian was safe. It was never easy to fight the need to  _ kill kill kill _ but the punishment for her failure was much harder. 

She focused on regaining memories of who she was. The Pits always turned her into an animalistic being with no thought other than to protect her master. A chant went through her head as she did so:  _ Damian is safe, Damian is alive. Damian is safe, Damian is alive.  _ She could feel the violent urges of the Pits calm slightly with each repeat. 

She was Khadima Al Ghul but only by blood. To herself she was Marinette - after all, Khadima held the implication that she was a  _ regular  _ maidservant rather than  _ the _ maidservant of the heir to the League, an important role that she had been trained for since the discovery of her gender. This role of hers she had accepted, but she refused for it to be her name. 

She already remembered that she hated green, specifically the bright green of the Pits. To wake up in the Pits meant that she had failed in some way. Failure was pain. The only green she could tolerate was Damian’s eyes, and that of the Lilicith poison, which had put her in a state of euphoria while she slowly died a painless death. Unfortunately, that had not been how she died most recently. Instead, she had botched a defense move and paid the price. I n her defense, she was better with weapons like the kusarigama than with katanas. Those were Damian’s specialty. 

Marinette was tempted to just stay in the Pits - maybe the world would be kind and she would die. Of course, it would be irritating to pull herself back together but it was worth the few extra minutes of peace. Besides, how much more could she lose to the Pits if she died again? Did she even have anything left of herself to lose? It didn’t feel like it when she herself was nothing, to begin with. 

Unfortunately, she couldn’t drown in the Pits. It wouldn’t let her die, that was literally the opposite of its job. She’d just eternally drown, lungs full of liquid but no death to soothe the burning. If only that had been the most painful way she had died. 

Marinette pushed herself out of the Pits. She could sense Talia’s impatience and she had no desire to worsen her punishment. Her master had disappeared, no longer needed now that she had regained her sanity. Only Talia was there, the woman she refused to call a mother. Not that Talia had ever wanted to be her mother; in fact, she was probably happy that Marinette no longer tried to associate the two of them as family. Marinette was, after all, Talia’s greatest shame. 

It burned Marinette inside to know that despite her hatred, she still wished Talia would look at her the same way she did Damian. That look of pride burned her with its reminder of what she  _ craved.  _ Marinette didn’t care to be an heir, of course; she was fine with her status of a servant - it had been her fate for so long that she couldn’t imagine anything different. But to see Talia look at her with those ashamed and hateful eyes while she looked at Damian with such pride filled her with cold hurt. 

She tried to numb herself to the pain but she could still feel it with every instance Talia treated the two twins differently. Marinette could only be glad that was spared from inheriting Talia’s eyes, otherwise, she would have scratched them out. The fewer reminders of Talia there were, the better. 

Marinette found herself automatically stumbling out of the Pits at the snap of Talia’s fingers. She felt her heart drop as she noticed the whip in Talia’s hand, but kneeled down anyways, heavy with resignation. Her back faced Talia and she waited for the first strike. Marinette’s only consolation was that it was better than when her punishment had been with Todd. He was much more creative with his torture than Talia was, his violent and insane mind conjuring millions of ways to lash out at her. Those had been the worst, the savage actions of a madman shouting for justice. He had disappeared a year ago, to where Talia never bothered to inform Marinette. She had simply started taking over punishments one day, to Marinette’s relief. Any pain she felt knowing that a parent was the one hurting her was minuscule compared to that of Todd, especially since Talia had been an aggressor for as long as she remembered. It didn’t matter that she was her mother, her eyes remained cold and merciless with each slash. 

She was unsure of how much time had passed. Punishments always felt long, but it could just be her mind playing tricks on her. These were the times when she became buried in her self-deprecating thoughts. Thoughts of how she had failed, how she could ever hope to become an adequate servant to Damian if she continued to fail like this? As his maidservant, she wasn’t allowed to fail. She was meant to stand by his side, only allowed to die if it meant saving his life or if he ordered it. Her life by itself was meaningless without him to protect. She could only be glad that he had never died before, as it would mean she had truly failed her title.


	2. Damian's a brat :/

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lmao the chapter title says it all. And I guess Marinette has some thoughts on Ra Al Ghul's misogyny. Oh yeah and we're finally hitting the road with Damian and Marinette going to Gotham. Mostly because that's like my favorite part in other fanfics. We're not doing that long intro thing no way no how. Btw criticism is welcome y'all. Just...don't be super mean. I'm a sensitive child.

Marinette flinched as she felt Talia’s hands on her back. She began to apply a cream of sorts, rubbing it on the wounds. It wasn’t exactly gentle but it wasn’t aggressive either. This was… new. Was it a new method of torture? She waited for the pain to worsen but nothing happened. There was only silence as Talia went from the cream to bandages. What was happening?

“Come with me,” Talia ordered, standing in front of her. Marinette followed her out of the pits and into the twisting corridors that would surely lose someone if they didn’t already know the way. They arrived in a throne room, empty except for Damian and Ra’s Al Ghul. She inwardly perked at the sight of her master, unthwarted by his ice-cold glare.

She sometimes fantasized that if she told him their relationship as siblings, he may treat her a bit warmly. Unfortunately, she knew him too well to seriously consider these things. He would either continue to look down at her as a female at best or see her as another opponent to destroy rather at worst. It would be difficult to defend Damian if he continuously attacked her, so she kept the knowledge of their blood relation a secret.

She scanned the room for any potential threats, looking for any escapes or places enemies could hide. Her eyes and ears caught nothing, but she continued to stay on guard as she stared at the man who was the reason for the rampant misogyny in the League of Assassins.

She continued to question the reason for it, as she had met many capable women within her time here. They were all vicious, sly, and deadly, often taking advantage of society's views of women. In fact, her own training had been based off on that. She had been trained to look smaller and weaker, the title of Servant a misleading implication. While a traitorous thing to think, she might argue that her skill was greater than Damian's.

It wasn’t a brag, in fact, as his loyal servant she was glad that her skills would prove useful to him. It was more of a logical conclusion, as there was just no motivation better than trying to avoid death and extreme pain. Being taught by women who had learned to stand out in the league through violent methods and continuous loss meant that they had little care for her troubles, hungry for more pain and misery. The only thing being an Al Ghul saved her from was permanent death, and it was arguable of “save” was the right term. It felt more like another punishment, as her teachers had no reason to hold back.

Todd had technically been a teacher as well, although most of the time what he was taught was first-hand experience pain. She was rarely allowed to defend herself, but the time she had been allowed a drastic change in skill due to her desperation to avoid more pain. While she could put herself in the mindset that her female teachers had allowed her to be more capable in protecting Damian, she struggled to do the same with Todd. The majority of the time had just been taking pain without fighting back, what lesson did she learn from that? The times in which he was used as a punishment was understandable, but what about the times when she had suffered just because he was angry?

Her mind began to flashback to some of the terrible things he’d done to her, the times he had used his favorite weapon, a crowbar, to hit her over and over and over again. And she just had to stand there and stare at him as he did so. Get up, get hit, get up, get hit. No no no she could not do this here!

Marinette dug her nails into her palm, forcing the memory back for another time. She could not risk getting distracted in front of her blood relatives. What to think about instead?

She tried thinking about how AL Ghul recognized so many different types of power and yet rarely saw it within an entire gender. It was a disturbingly big weak spot to have, to look over the majority of an entire gender, and yet he continued to live. It was confusing, to say the least. Anyone who killed the leader became the new leader (even if that leader can be revived through the pits), so how was he still the leader?

It was kind of a treasonous thing to think, but technically she could think it because her master was not Ra’s, it was Damian. It was a loophole she used constantly. Especially now with Ra’s Al Ghul staring back at her as if she were nothing more than an annoyance. Did he realize what she thought of him? Did it matter? He had yet to permanently kill her.

She almost wanted to laugh at his annoyance. His annoyance meant nothing compared to the daily glares of hatred and shame Talia gave. Kiss a rat and get covered in cockroaches, you meanie. She thought, just to be a little more rebellious. Of course, her face remained perfectly neutral as everyone stared at Damian, who was still glaring at her.

“You’re going to train with your Father,” Talia informed Damian, who turned to her in shock.

“Why? I thought I was doing well within the League.”

“The League is having a few minor issues. Training with your Father is the best solution while we sort things out.” Talia replied, her face one that dared Damian to try to rebel against the decision.

“Fine. But I do not need my servant to come with me. I am capable of handling myself.” He sneered, glaring at Marinette again. It was getting kind of annoying at this point, but she loved him anyway.

“You are very capable Damian, but all great leaders need their servants, and Khadima is an adequate maidservant.” That was probably the closest to a compliment Talia had ever given to her.

Damian looked ready to argue but at the look of his mother and grandfather’s face, he just gave a resigning nod.

“If you insist, I shall take the servant to my chambers to pack for the occasion.” As Marinette followed Damian out of the room, she got the feeling that Damian was about to make her job a hundred times harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw if you're mad that Jason is mean in this one... well he won't be the entire fic. I'm not really villainizing him. It's more like he just got out of the pits and Marinette suffered during the time in which he was trying to deal with whatever the pits do to you. But like he'll be chill for the rest of the fic.


	3. Damian wtf

Marinette was right because Damian was ~~a little~~ ~~bitc~~ quick to take his irritation out on her, lashing out at anything that could be considered a mistake. 

"You imbecile! Why would you pack the _black_ daggers when the _red_ daggers would be a better reference to my title as Robin?" Because, Damian, the _black_ daggers would be less eyecatching. Not that it mattered when you were wearing a bright red, green, and gold suit at night. It was truly a terrible combination choice and it clashed with Damian's training as an assassin/ninja. You know, the profession that required staying in the shadows and not being seen? 

"Why is the majority of clothes casual? I am the heir to the League, I must look the part, you dimwit!" Because, Damian, the "flaunting royalty" clothes would not fit with the Western aesthetic and it's meant for warm weather, which is the opposite of Gotham.  If Marinette hadn't understood that this was Damian's way of hiding his true emotions, she might have done something truly heinous for her title of Servant. Like ignoring Damian.  Unfortunately, she did get that his ~~nagging~~ strict rules for packing were just his insecurities and fears of what Father might think of him. So no heinous crimes for now. She _was_ tempted to reveal her status so he  could find comfort in someone that could empathize with him, but this was not the time. In fact, it would probably increase his worries now that he had sudden competition he was unaware of. While the murder of most competition was a regular occurrence, the murder of blood relatives was not always welcome. A lot of honor came from a loyalty to family, and it was only the League that came first. While you would think that this would mean equal treatment towards other family members, it really meant that as long as you didn't kill your family you were fine (unless it was for the League).  Her reveal would just mean an increase in time that Damian would spend planning murders. 

A knife burrowed in the wall behind her. She had instinctively dodged it, her mind picking up the whistle of the knife in the background of her subconscious. Damian must be getting pretty impatient and antsy to go back to this. Another knife hit the wall as she bent down to pick up one of the weapons he had scattered in his rage early on. It was one of his older katanas, his favorite one to use before Talia had gifted him a new one. Personally, she liked this katana more, its hilt decorated in dark green gems that matched his eyes. The new one had bright red gems as a sign of blood that had yet to be spilled. It made sense considering what League they were in but it didn't match Damian as well as the old katana did. 

Another knife was thrown. Maybe the new katana did match him...

* * *

A few hours and one knick from Damian (he had angrily swiped at her as he turned to leave (she wasn't sure if she was allowed to directly defend herself with a katana against Damian and internally freaked out until it was too late to do anything) later, they were in Gotham. 

They crept around Gotham through the night, looking for members of the Bat crew. According to Damian, Talia hadn't known where their Father lived so they had to find his disciples to point them in the right direction (Marinette had her doubts but there wasn't much she could do).

Despite holding the bag full of stuff, Marinette was less visible than Damian. Then again, Damian was the only one who was supposed to be seen (plus as the future leader of the league, being invisible is kind of the least important compared to the rest of his lessons). It took a few hours of wandering but eventually, they spotted Nightwing. Marinette snuck further into the shadows, determined not to be caught. Her mission was to look for any enemies from the outside that may come for Damian. She now understood why Talia had patched her up earlier, Marinette had to be in peak shape to defend Damian. As for the whip wounds themselves well... what kind of servant would she be if she couldn't fight with a few injuries? 

Marinette watched as Damian moved closer to Nightwing, expecting for there to be a short conversation before Nightwing led them to Batman. She had not expected Damian to suddenly attack Nightwing, although she probably should have. Well, that explained why Damian had been so insistent on looking for other Bat crew members. He was trying to get rid of the competition. This... wasn't going to end well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did they get to Gotham? Idk use your imagination. Maybe they cruised to Gotham. Maybe they turned into birds and flew there. Maybe they ate a magical bean that teleported them there in the span of a few hours. You don't know. I don't know. No one knows how they got to Gotham.


	4. Tim Lives Another Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Idk more little shit Damian

Nightwing was doing well despite the unexpected attack. She was glad, she would hate to have given up her position so early on. Marinette really didn't understand Damian's thinking at this point. Killing their Father's disciples would not look good to their Father, who had personally trained them. Ending them would have made that effort a waste. Well, she got that all he saw were competitors to his right as Batman and his Father's attention, but it still wasn't a good move. He really should have waited until after he proved himself to be irreplaceable. 

Had Damian worn a communication piece, she would have attempted to speak sense into his head. As he was not, she stuck to adjusting the plan by placing a tracking device on Nightwing's vehicle. She didn't trust the one on Damian to stay on him, either from Nightwing body-searching him or Damian taking it off himself out of spite. 

She watched as Nightwing managed to knock Damian out and tie him up, ready to step in at any moment if he went too far. The only thing he did was call their Father to question about Damian, who had revealed his status as blood son multiple times. This was messier than she had hoped it to be, but it did end up with Nightwing driving an unconscious Damian to their base. 

Marinette would follow them later to avoid possible suspicion. At the moment her job was to ensure that the fight hadn't attracted any traitor of the league. 

* * *

Hours later, Marinette found herself carefully climbing into Damian's window. She had managed to catch a few traitors but not as many as she had feared. Avoiding the rest of the Bat crew had been harder, she had narrowly avoided a man in a red helmet and the current Robin, the later nearly stumbling on one of the bodies she was hiding. She assumed Batman had ended the patrol prematurely, catching Robin's attention before he saw anything. 

Damian barely glanced at her, his focus on the weapons she carried. 

"Good, you managed to find my room. Prepare my katana, I have a competitor to kill." 

"I was unaware that you are so weak as to consider the current Robin competition." She spoke back, inwardly cringing. Any harm that befalls Damian is a worse crime than simply questioning his decisions, she reasoned. It was below the belt but it worked. 

Damian snarled at her. "I am obviously superior to him! I am the _blood_ son of Batman and heir to the league. I am not _weak."_

 _"_ Then why do you need to kill him? Why not simply prove your superiority? Fa- _your_ Father will never be able to see your worth if you have no failure to compare it to." Damian threw another dagger at her. She let it graze her to pacify him. 

"Fine. I shall prove my worth to Father first. It will be better to gain his permission to kill his unworthy disciple anyways. To see the fear and resignation on his face will feel all the better." He said, his back turned to her. 

Relieved that her master would not make any unforgivable mistakes this night, Marinette turned to the window, prepared for more hours of scouting Gotham. She would do well to familiarize herself with the area. 

She barely dodged the knife that was flung at her hand. "Don't think I'll forget your insolence. You would do well to remember your place." 

There was nothing she could do to forget it. 

"Of course."

* * *

*Random Writing Blooper*

Marinette watched in irritation as Damian yelled to the world that he was the blood son of Batman. At this rate, traitors weren't going to be the only thing after him! She lost it when Damian mentioned the Al Ghul name as well. He was attracting so. many. potential. traitors!

Quickly, she kneeled down and picked up a hard bagel. When Nightwing was out of the way, she threw it at Damian's head. Hard. He was knocked out immediately. She took a spoon and threw it at Nightwing, not hard enough to really injury him but fast enough to distract him as she snuck away, leaving Nightwing with a spoon in his hand and an unconscious Damian. And of course, a really hard bagel. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never underestimate a bagel


	5. D O U G H N U T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter doesn't actually have doughnuts in it because doughnuts are for non-angsty fanfics. You do get Marinette being a sacrificial idiot tho.

It hadn't taken long for Marinette to realize Damian's greatest enemy would be himself. After she had convinced him not to kill the current Robin, he had decided to hurt him severely in the hopes that that would prove to Father that he was worthy of the position of Robin. Needless to say, Father was not impressed by his stunt. Marinette chalked it up to bad food. Damian was used to Arabian food, something she was sure her Father's servant did not cook up to his standards, if at all.

That wasn't actually the only reason, but it didn't help his mood. While she had not witnessed how Father interacted with Damian, her true guess was that Father was ignoring him. Damian had not appeared with Batman and Robin the night after his arrival. Father's reaction was understandable, as that was how she coped with shock as well. Showing emotions meant being vulnerable, and it was hard not to when her thoughts swirled like a hurricane in her head. As Batman, he held a heavier responsibility to bear than she, so any moment of vulnerability had heavier outcomes. She was only tasked with one person, he was tasked with an entire city. She could only imagine the consequences of even a single moment of defenselessness. It was safer to stay away until under full control. 

Marinette was aware that Damian would not see it that way. His reaction to anything foreign was to fight it rather than think about it. Most of the problems he had been exposed to had been solved by that reaction. Unfortunately, in this situation, it only made things worse. The harder he fought before Father was ready, the longer it would take for Father to accept him. Father would only continue to see the bad. 

After weighing the pros and cons, she decided that it would be better to reveal herself to the Bat crew rather than continue multitasking between avoiding them and searching for traitors. It might put Damian in a worse mood, but he might feel better after she provided him with food he was familiar with.

* * *

Marinette found herself in front of her Father's manor in the late morning, taking in the consideration that that time would be preferable to the Bat clan. She had been tempted to pace in front of their door until the right time, but it would only increase her anxiety if she did. She had to prevent the greatest detectives in the world from figuring out her identity too early on. It would not be an easy task, but she was relying on their ignorance of the workings of the league and the chaos from Damian to aid her. 

She had chosen to wear the Western version of servant-wear (or the clothes of a maid as they called it) to help them fall for her lies. She didn't understand why they made the apron white but she was unlikely to spill anything so it didn't matter anyway. Of course, she had readjusted the outfit to hide multiple weapons and ~~a hard bagel~~ some medical supplies. She had a feeling that the medical supplies would prove to be very useful. 

Marinette swung the door knocker several times before waiting patiently. To her surprise, her Father opened it instead of his servant. 

"And who might you be?" He asked, his tone warm but his eyes cold and suspicious. She stared at him. This was her Father. His hair was in slight disarray but it wasn't noticeable if you weren't looking for it. He wasn't as tall as she imagined but he wasn't short either. He wore clothes that cleverly hid the majority of his muscle. His expression wasn't completely fake but it wasn't real either. He had no reason to be happy to see her. A fondness for children? It made sense considering how many child disciples he had. She compared him to her. She had his eyes, the exact same blue with the same shape as well. She had known that but it was different to actually see it. Damian and she had both inherited his black hair but neither of them had his face shape or nose. Her skin matched his while Damian matched his Mother's. 

She could tell her Father. She could tell him that she was his. She looked close enough to him that it would seem believable even without a blood test. Maybe he would one day give her the same look Talia gave Damian. Maybe if he knew she was his he would be proud of her. Maybe even _love_ her. She had seen Talia wrap her arms around Damian and put her palm on his cheek before they left. Maybe he'd give her that too. 

Marinette thought about Damian. He knew what all these things were like. It would be harder for him to lose it than for her to never gain it. She had been waiting for years for these things. Longing for something she had never had. She could wait longer for it. Damian could not. Damian _lived_ on approval. On being the best. If she stayed out of the way, he'd have a better chance of getting what he needed.

Marinette cleared her mind before she could go any deeper. These things didn't matter if Father didn't pass the test. 

"I'm Marinette, Damian Al Ghul Wayne's servant." She replied. As she bowed deeply, her long hair touched the ground. It was usually in a bun, but she had kept it down to look more "innocent". It was unusual for an assassin to have long hair, but in her case, it was easier to have it. The less suspicious she looked, the easier it would be to follow Damian around. Besides, the best assassins can turn anything into a weapon. 

Father stared at her in disbelief. "You're his servant?" She nodded, unsure about which part he was questioning. That she was a servant or that he had one.

After a moment he just sighed. "We don't accept child servants but if you'd like a place to stay, you can." Despite her victory, Marinette couldn't help but feel her heart drop a little. The test was whether he would question her or not. Had he been ready to accept another child, he would have asked if she was his. He was smart enough to suspect if his mind allowed him to. 

He had not asked. He was not ready. 

* * *

~Blooper~ 

Marinette looked at her Father. She wanted to tell him. Didn't he deserve to know? Her loyalty was still to Damian but the ache in her heart at the thought of giving up what she had craved for _years_ was too much. 

She looked him in the eye. Her eyes stared back. Daughter to Father. "I'm your daugh-" she suddenly flinched back as an object flew past her, hitting her Father in the face. He was knocked out cold. Where had that come from? She stared at the object. A box of doughnuts? She glanced behind her and saw a horrified Nightwing (in civilian clothes) staring at the damage he had just done. 

"Omg I'm sorry! I meant to hit you!" She glared at him. "What? A tiny child has been attacking us for the past couple of days! Forgive me for trying to stay cautious!" ...Fair. She was almost glad Father had been hit by those doughnuts. It had been stupid to try to tell him the truth. 

* * *

~Blooper 2~

"I'm your daughter." She revealed. Her stomach twisted in knots but she felt a bit of relief. She had finally got to tell someone. Bruce looked at her with wide eyes. 

"Wha-" before he could finish, something landed harshly on her Father's head, knocking him out at best. Marinette looked up to see a horrified looking Superman with a bag of groceries in his arm. 

"Oh god, I killed him! I'm so sorry I was just carrying my stuff home." In a second the doughnuts had appeared back in Superman's hand and Father was gone. He wore a grimace. "Okay so he's not dead but he did get hit pretty hard. He probably lost a few hours of memory from that hit though. I flew him inside, his butler will probably tend to his injury." She blinked and he was gone. She turned towards the door and nearly yelped when she heard his voice again. 

"Oh yeah! And if you don't mind, please don't mention this to him." 

"Why not?" She asked. She knew why but he had just messed up her chances. She was allowed some payback. 

Superman visibly froze for a second. "Uhhhh. Well, you wouldn't want it in the news that a hero accidentally hurt a civilian, right? That would be very bad. A lot of chaos would be caused." He edged further away with every word. "Oh no! I hear a bank being robbed. I better go save it! Bye random citizen! Remember not to tell Ba- Bruce Wayne!" He was gone. Just like her Father's memory of her reveal. If the universe didn't want her to tell, she would just have to wait. 

* * *

~Blooper 3~

"I'm your-" she paused as the ground began to shake. Father and daughter both looked around for the source, their eyes catching sight of the gigantic doughnut right as it was above them. 

"Move!" Her father shouted. Well, that was obvious. she turned to move but barely managed a step before she was shoved harshly to the side. There was a sickening crunch and then a crash as the doughnut hit the manor. Marinette pushed herself as fast as possible, praying that the crunch was not what she thought it was. 

Her prayers were not answered. There, in front of her, was a gory mess of blood, broken bones, and doughnut glaze. She could barely recognize her father with his head completely crushed. His eyes stared blankly at her behind spots of pink frosting. His blood spread out in a large puddle, mixing with the sprinkles that had fallen off when the doughnut landed. The entire scene was gruesome but colorful. Marinette let out a sob, frozen in shock at the sight of her dead father. She didn't even try to search for Damian, afraid of what she'd find. In the end, Batman's greatest enemy had not been the Joker. Like many other Americans, it had been a doughnut that killed him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doughnuts because I thought Coulson was going to defend himself with them in A Funny Thing Happened On the Way to Thor's Hammer (thanks Bbgirl3191). Doughnuts are the goofy version of bagels. They will never give you a straight answer. Bagels are nicer. They won't give you an answer but they also won't purposely try to confuse you. And sometimes bagels are good. Like when they knocked out Damian. Doughnuts are pure goofy chaos. They will knock out a n y o n e.


	6. Marinette get the dollar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette meets Alfred and Bruce tries to figure out Damian without actually talking to him because I love him but he can be a bit of a dumbass sometimes

Marinette walked in to find Damian glaring at her. He angrily munched on an apple as he continued to stare at her with accusing eyes. She decided she was going to ignore all of that unless he brought it up. 

"How is the food, Master Damian?" Damian scowled. The number of expressions he could use while still conveying anger was impressing and a bit amusing. 

"Tt it was mediocre but nutritional." She nodded. That was Damian language for "please make me something I miss home food". Okay, maybe not exactly like that but serving Damian was easier when she made him sound polite. 

"I shall prepare a worthy dish immediately." Marinette bowed and went to head towards the kitchen when ~~her Father~~ Master Wayne (she'd have to stop calling him Father if she wished to avoid slip-ups) stopped her. His expression was mostly neutral but his eyes frowned at Damian. 

"Damian, you can't have her as your servant." His voice held no warmth like before. The differences in his tone were fascinating. 

"Why not? You have your servant." He argued. Master Wayne's eyes frowned harder. 

"Alfred is more than a servant, but that's beside the point. She's a child. She should not be calling you Master. Do you even pay her? I pay Alfred."

Damian's face was a mixture of irritation and confusion. "Why would I pay her? She is mine. All heirs of the League deserve faithful servants." She could see where this was going. The clash of cultures. Neither of them would understand where the other is coming from. Damian and Marinette had not been given a thorough education on the ways of the Westerners but she was aware that in the eyes of the Westerners, she was considered a child slave. Slavery had been outlawed for years. Master Wayne surely saw this as a heinous act. But she and Damian both saw it as natural. Marinette didn't even _consider_ herself as a slave. Her position had not been her choice but she would gladly serve Damian now. What was she without that responsibility? 

Master Wayne's eyes were dangerously angry now. She had to stop it before he took it out on Damian, whose views were so different that any speech he gave would just leave him confused and hurt. 

"Master Wayne, please calm down. I am Damian's servant and happy to remain that way. I have been trained to do so all my life. Would you be so mean as to deny me something I have worked so hard for?" Master Wayne looked at her and sighed. 

"I guess not. But I'm paying you. You'll be getting a salary. I'm sure Alfred will be very happy to have a student to teach." Well, there really was no reason to deny a salary. She had felt a bit guilty for stealing some food from one of the stores. And this way it would be much easier to get medical supplies. 

Marinette bowed again. "Thank you, Master Wayne. If you could lead me to the kitchen I can help Mr. Alfred as of now." She turned but felt a hand rest her shoulder. 

"Before I show you the way, please stop referring to people as Master. You may call me Bruce, and Damian, Damian." Master Wayne pointed to himself and then to Damian. 

She smiled at him. "As you wish, Master Wayne." Master Wayne sighed in exasperation. She barely heard him mutter: "just like Alfred". 

"Fine. At least call me Master Bruce instead. I hate being called Wayne." She nodded in agreement and he directed her to the kitchen with his hand still resting on her shoulder. She barely noticed Damian's envious expression through her own glee at the comforting physical contact. 

The two of them were quiet until Damian was out of hearing range. "So, how is Damian like?" Master Bruce inquired, leaning towards her. 

"He is stubborn but brilliant. He has little patience, he's confident, and he's blunt. His best weapon is his katana." Master Bruce nodded as if memorizing every word. 

"What does he like to do?" 

"We've had little time to figure out our interests, but he enjoys fighting." Marinette thought about the animals Damian had once snuck in. He had ordered her to take care of them and had been devastated when Talia eventually found them and killed them. "He may also enjoy a pet." 

"What pet do you think he'd like?" 

"I think he'll take a liking to almost any pet." She paused "but you know, I think it would be better if you learned all this information from Damian." Master Bruce cringed. 

"I am... still getting used to Damian. Do you have any tips?" 

Marinette looked him in the eyes to show him how serious she was. "You'll find that he does better with praise than with yelling. As the heir of the league, he bows down to no one. But as your son, he only wishes to please you, even if his training and pride prevent him from doing so." Master Bruce nodded, and she hoped that for everyone's sake he'd take the advice to heart. 

They stopped in front of the kitchen. "Before I let you go, is severely injuring your housemates a common thing for the League?" Marinette debated on how to answer. Technically, yes. All the assassins lived in close quarters and they tended to hurt each other on a daily basis. But the majority had consented to the fighting and they were allowed to drink a bit of the pit waters to heal the most severe wounds. 

"It is common to kill your competition or enemy. Damian hurt Master Drake because to him, he is both." Master Bruce paused. 

"You're not going to _try_ to kill Alfred, are you?" She shook her head. 

"Servants have no reason to compete. They all have the same duty. Killing a servant would just increase the workload." 

"That seems reasonable." 

* * *

They walked into the kitchen where a man in a suit stood. His head was surrounded by gray hair but bald at the top, and he had an interesting pointy mustache. 

"Alfred, meet Marinette. She would like to help you with your work." Alfred leaned down to look at her. 

"Hello, Miss Marinette. My name is Alfred Pennyworth. I'm glad to meet you." His eyes were kind, they held a warm twinkle. She felt safe. Pennyworth held out his hand. 

She shook his hand. "Please call me Marinette. There is no need to address me so highly as we are both servants." Alfred's twinkle held amusement. 

"Alright Marinette, it's a pleasure to have someone helping me now that there's another mouth to feed." He turned to Master Bruce. "Now that we have that solved, I think it would be better for someone to leave the kitchen." Master Bruce chuckled, raising his hands as a sign of surrender. 

"Alright, alright, I know when I'm not wanted." Fath- Master Bruce patted her head before walking off, leaving her to her supposed "teacher". 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No bloopers this time but a carrot shall soon be used...


	7. Marinette Gets a Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette gets something of her own.

Marinette looked at the dishes that were in the process of being made. The majority seemed to be Western, like garlic steak with buttery potatoes and pepper chicken with a variety of vegetables that grow in the West. However, there was a dish that looked different from the rest. 

"Is that Kabsa?" Pennyworth nodded. 

"Yes. I thought Master Damian might feel a bit better with a familiar taste. However, I feel that I have not done it justice." Marinette tasted the dish. 

"It's not bad but it lacks flavor." She grabbed a few spices and herbs to add. "Do you have any ground cardamom?"

Alfred shook his head. "I do not." Marinette sighed in disappointment. All well. It wasn't something above her skill, she was used to a lack of proper ingredients that led to substitutions or a change in taste. But some ground cardamom would have been nice. 

She stirred in the ingredients. "Okay, now try it." After he tried it, Pennyworth nodded in approval. 

"It is good. Would you like to take over this dish while I check on the other ones?" 

"I thought that was apparent." 

They worked in silence. 

"Would you like to make a deal?" Alfred asked a few minutes later. 

"Depends on the deal." 

"Your culinary skill with Arabic dishes is impressive. I am quite experienced with Western cuisine. Perhaps we can teach each other? That way we can take over for the other if they are absent." _How do you know I'm not skilled with Western cuisine as well?_ She was tempted to ask. She wasn't, but Pennyworth didn't know that. 

"That sounds like a reasonable deal. Perhaps you can teach me how to become a better servant as well. Your experience outranks my own, after all." Pennyworth nodded in agreement. 

"The first step is to never be afraid to stand up to your master if you feel that your opinions will keep him from harm." She moved to ask him how he was allowed to do such a thing but he gestured to her to stay quiet. "For example:" Marinette stared in confusion as Pennyworth continued to look at her while throwing something into the wall. It barely missed the current Robin, Drake, who yelped in fright. He turned to face Drake. 

"I'd advise you to avoid coffee for the remainder of the day, Master Drake." Drake glared at him but Pennyworth remained unperturbed. He angrily marched out. Well, it was more of an angry hobble. It was clear that Drake was still a bit incapacitated from whatever Damian did to him. 

"How did you do that without getting in trouble? You can't just tell your Master what to do!" Pennyworth shook his head. 

"A good Master knows when to listen to his servants. Especially those who remain by his side thick and thin." Marinette looked at what he had thrown at Master Drake. It was a carrot that was now burrowed deep into the wall. 

"But how did you manage to threaten them as well?" Pennyworth chuckled. 

"The Masters are quite capable of dodging anything I throw at them when my intention is not to harm them. We are all aware that my true intention is to prevent them from harming themselves. It comes with the trust that a master and a servant should have." Pennyworth paused. "Besides, the location of the thrown object is predictable. It always hits the same place". 

He looked at her. "If you'd like, you may joy me in preventing our Masters from accidentally killing themselves." 

She frowned. "But then there would be another hole in the wall." Alfred smiled and patted her head. 

"Then we will have two holes, one specifically for you." Oh. Something for her. She suddenly felt... very warm inside. But a good kind of warm. She could barely stop herself from smiling. A hole just for her. 

* * *

When the meal was ready, they served the dishes together. She tagged behind Pennyworth, shielding herself from view as she took note of the other rest of the family. Master Bruce was absent from the table and she couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed for Damian. Grayson sat close to but still a seat away, clearly cautious after what Damian had done. Drake was there but looked on the edge of unconsciousness. She was tempted to give him something just from how miserable he looked. She didn't understand why he allowed himself to be in such a state when he was near Damian. The idea of being that vulnerable sounded horrifying. 

She gave Damian his Kabsa and allowed herself to be fine with a "this is adequate". After Alfred had given Master Bruce his meal within his office, he led her to a room that was only for her. That surprised her. The room was at least twice the size of her last one. It felt so... empty with only her in it.

The bed was firm but still softer than what she was used to. Still, she wanted to just curl up on it and sleep. Unfortunately, she had traitors to scout for. 

* * *

~Other Alfred and Marinette drabble that I wanted to include but couldn't find a way to include without it feeling awkwardly written or pointless~ 

Marinette actually makes her hole :D

Marinette looked in disgust at the colorful box in front of her. This was what Americans loved to eat? This monstrosity? Why did _her_ family even have this? She looked to Pennyworth for answers. 

"That is Grayson's food of choice. It is the one thing I cannot get him to stop eating no matter how hard I try." He sighed. "My masters and their addictions..." Marinette stared, horrified at the mere thought of Damian developing such an addiction. Had she made a mistake? Perhaps Grayson was a bad influence after all... 

No! Grayson seemed to do well with Damian. She could not tear them apart. But she had to find a way to get Grayson to stop eating this "cereal" before it killed him. Or worse, before Damian got the same addiction. They were just tiny cookies! they didn't even look anywhere close to a meal! 

She decided that she would cook an extra healthy meal to compensate, even if Damian had only eaten the disgusting mixture in her imagination. She'd make sure that he ate all of his vegetables as well, just to be safe. She could convince Alfred to give Grayson even healthier meals as well. 

Marinette continued to plan more ways to make a healthier meal when she heard the tell-tale signs of Grayson trying to sneak into the kitchen. That could only mean one thing. He was trying to eat cereal... RIGHT BEFORE DINNER! 

Without hesitation, Pennyworth and Marinette threw carrots at the wall in sync, missing Grayson's head and shoulder by centimeters. He let out an extra loud yelp. 

"I suggest that you keep your hands away from the cereal, Master Grayson. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes" they said in unison. Grayson looked at them with fear in his eyes. 

"Oh no, there's two of them." He whispered to himself. He hastily backtracked out of the kitchen. "Haha I wasn't going to get cereal, I just thought Damian was hiding in the box. Anyways, I just go now. Bye Alfred and mini-Alfred!" They both watched him in amusement as he turned to run out of their sight. 

Marinette took the carrot out of the wall and traced the markings with her finger. "I've made my hole now." She let herself smile as Pennyworth patted her head fondly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to VioletSparrow who gave me carrot as a blooper. Obviously, carrots are Alfred's favorite weapon of choice. Do not underestimate Alfred when he's got a bag of carrots in his hand. Actually, the true moral of the story is just never underestimate Alfred.


	8. Wig Thrown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette + Jason = ??? & 100% anxiety + fear

It had not been Marinette's intention to watch Red Hood take off his helmet to eat. She hadn't exactly registered who it was when she had started stalking him, she just knew that his movements were familiar. Which, considering the situation, was a bad thing. At most, she had expected it to be another random traitor. Marinette had _not_ expected it to be _Todd._

Because yes, that was most _certainly_ Todd, even if his face was still covered by a mask. There was no way it was anyone else. His hair and body shape was too distinctive to be anyone else. 

She let out a small noise of shock and stumbled over a bucket behind her. The sound had been involuntary. If it had been anyone else, she wouldn't have made a noise. But this was _Todd._ She froze as she saw Todd look in her direction. Maybe if she stayed still he wouldn't- nevermind he was heading her way. 

Memories of before rushed through her mind as she bolted. 

Had Marinette been within her right mind, she might have stayed to see what he would do before running. She might have tried to fight back. After all, the goal was to get away from him, not to win. But she was not. Her memories and reality mixed. She was innocent eight again but tainted ten at the same time. It was incredibly disorienting. 

She heard his footsteps behind her. They were heavy and aggressive. She couldn't tell if he was close or if it was just her fear getting to her. She risked a look. He was close but not close enough. 

Marinette grabbed her pink pigtail wig and threw it behind her. She heard a stutter in his footsteps as it hit him in the face. She couldn't bring herself to feel any victory when his cursing was still within ear-range. A shiver ran down her spine at the thought of what he might do to her now that she had directly provoked him. 

She was glad she had worn that wig to hide her identity. It wasn't a color she was particularly fond of but she had nothing else. Marinette vowed that as soon as Master Bruce gave her her ~~allowance~~ paycheck, she was getting a better wig. And colored eye-contacts. 

Marinette rushed to the side of a building, intent on jumping into a hole that would lead to her get-away. 

She was mid-jump when her ankles were snatched out of the air. 

She had to stifle a scream when she came face to face with Todd, his arm holding her high in the air. _Just don't move. If I don't resist, maybe he won't hurt me_ , she thought. 

"Who are you?" He asked gruffly, shaking her a bit as if to intimidate an answer out of her. 

Well, if he didn't know who she was, she wasn't about to tell him. Like, how would that go? _Hey, hello, I'm just the person you tortured for two? years. Remember me?_ Yeah, no, she was not about to admit who she was just to get him to torture her _again._

Her stomach flipped at a sudden thought. What if he actually knew who she was and was just testing her? Would he punish her for not telling the truth? Her mind was split between the two options. Tell or don't tell? 

Apparently, she had been quiet for too long. Todd started talking again. "You're young. But you don't look like a new Robin. Are you one of those people playing vigilante?"

Well, not really? She was doing her duty, and if she saw a few crooks well, the extra practice was useful. 

Marinette slowly shook her head. Todd just sighed. 

"Well, my arm's getting tired and you've got nothing. So one last question:" he moved her closer to him and she braced herself "are you hungry?" 

Marinette stared at him in confusion. What? Was that a trick question? Her mind was going on overdrive, agonizing over whether she should say yes or no. She was... a bit hungry. It was ignorable, she had faced far worse, but should she tell the truth? 

Todd just sighed again as she continued to stare at him. This was new. Usually, he would have hit her by now. 

"Come on, kid. I'll take you to this place I like." 

* * *

It was weird to be pressed up against Todd's back, riding on a motorcycle. She felt so vulnerable, he could just throw her off at any moment with ease and she could do nothing about it. She was in a perpetual state of confusion. He had given her his helmet as a safety precaution and had warned her to hold him tight. He had acted nothing like the Todd she knew and now they were heading to someplace with food. Was this a game? He had never done such a thing to this extent. Sure, there were random times when he had acted nicer, but he had never gone this far. What was going on? 

They arrived at a place called "White Palace". Todd drove into a line of cars that were waiting outside of the building. 

"What do you want?" He asked her. He pointed to a list of items with multiple pictures. They looked like meals with circular bread and various mixtures within it. There were some other items as well but she didn't want to keep Todd waiting. Marinette pointed to a meal with chicken. Todd nodded in affirmation. 

It was interesting to see someone give them food without batting an eye. Like serving two masked figures was just a normal Tuesday. Well, maybe it was. Todd _had_ said he liked this place. 

They drove to an empty hill with grass. She could see the manor from there. She paused as she realized that she could not eat this circular meal with her mask on. It covered the bottom part of her face. Maybe that was his game! Make her comfortable so that she takes off her mask! Well... that wasn't that bad. She didn't understand why he didn't just take off her mask when he had the chance if that was his goal. It didn't make sense. 

Marinette looked helplessly at her meal and Todd sighed for the third time that night. 

"Here. It's a mask so that you can still eat while covering your face." She checked for any signs of poison before she put it on. Nothing. 

Marinette turned around to switch her mask. She could hear crumpling behind her as Todd unwrapped his meal. No sign of danger. 

She watched him eat before doing the same herself. She inwardly grimaced at how messy the meal seemed. Pennyworth would not like this meal. At least there was the wrapper so she wouldn't have to eat with her dirty hands. 

"My... mentor did this for me when I first met him," Todd said after a few minutes of silent eating. "It had been the best meal I had in a while". He turned to Marinette. 

"You... remind me of him somehow." She stared at him blankly. He nodded as if that confirmed his statement. "It's your expression. Or well, the lack of it. You have, like, no expression but your eyes say what your face doesn't." She continued to stare at him, unsure of what to say. It was nice to know what she had in common with her Father. It was weird to be getting this information from Todd but well, it was useful to see how he felt about her Father. "It's weird seeing fear in those eyes though. My mentor seemed to never show fear. I think I prefer it that way though. I'd rather him be angry than fearful..." He trailed off as if lost in memories. Marinette just ate her meal. She couldn't picture her Father as scared either, at least, not scared in the usual sense. Being scared of Damain because of what he represented was another thing. Not that he _showed_ that fear. She could just tell.

"If he'd just understand that sometimes the best way to end crime is to kill the perpetrators." He muttered absent-mindedly. "He wouldn't even have to do the killing. Just allow me to."

Batman was notorious for keeping villains alive. The intensity in which he did so confused her, but she understood his strong hatred of murder. She didn't hate it, but she preferred not to kill if she didn't have to. Knowing how it felt to die... she didn't like putting others through the same experience. They didn't get another chance like she did. 

Marinette continued to theorize over Todd's possible plan. Sharing this information did nothing for him. The lack of understanding increased her anxiety. He didn't act like this. He didn't _work_ like this. What was he doing? Why was he stretching out the time like this? Was he going to hurt her or not? 

Todd snapped out of his thoughts. "So, do you like the burger?" He asked suddenly. She inwardly jumped. 

Marinette ignored the beating of her heart as she looked at her meal. So it was called a "burger". She nodded. It wasn't bad, it was just different from what she was used to. Not that she would have changed her answer even if it _was_ terrible. She was trying to _avoid_ upsetting whatever strange mood he was in, not end it. 

"Yeah, I'm glad you like it. You look like you've never seen a burger before. A world without burger is... well probably not that bad but it would still _suck."_ Hmm maybe burgers made him less aggressive. Marinette mentally made a note of that. You never know when you might have a burger and an angry Jason in the same place. 

They finished their burgers and Todd stood up to stretch. "Anyways, moral of the story, don't be an asshole like my mentor, alright?" He patted her hood. "And like, wear an eye mask or something. Vigilantes who express their emotions so easily get eaten up alive in Gotham." Marinette was tempted to argue that he was the only one who brought out those emotions. But well, still not trying to die. The Lazarus pit wasn't exactly close to Gotham. 

* * *

Marinette laid in her bed, full and sleepy. And yet her mind refused to let her sleep, buzzing with confusion, anxiety, and fear over Todd. No matter how she looked at things, she couldn't understand what Todd was trying to do. Why the sudden interest in psychological torture when he had been fine with physical? Was it because of Batman? Did he fear punishment? But then why bother being pleasant to her? It didn't make sense. She felt like she was next to a bomb that could explode at any moment. The constant anticipation that screamed in her head made Marinette want to beg Todd to just get the torture over with already. Was that the plan? Get her to plead for the torture? 

She sighed, rolling around in her bed. New plan, just avoid Todd. He wasn't that close to the Batcrew so she didn't have to keep an eye on him. She could just put extra work into the rest. She could do that. 

* * *

~Blooper~

Marinette ran as fast as she could but she knew she couldn't escape Jason on speed alone. It was time to use her ultimate weapon. 

She ripped off her blue, pigtail wig to reveal a cyan super Saiyan wig (how did it fit? Assassin magic)! As she leapt into the air, she threw the pigtail wig, which hit Todd directly in the face. 

A quiet "what the fuck" was cut off when she grabbed and threw the cyan wig, revealing a smaller, green super Saiyan wig underneath. She threw that as well to reveal a pineapple-shaped wig underneath. "HOW MANY WIGS DO YOU HAVE" was muffled by more wigs. 

By now, Todd was slowing down, the wigs wrapping around him in inconvenient ways. No matter how many he tried to throw off, there was another one. And they were all so b i g that getting them completely off was a miracle to begin with. Finally, he completely stopped, buried in a large pile of wigs of various sizes and color. 

He may have drowned in the wigs. He just couldn't handle the gloriousness of it all. 

Marinette stared dramatically at his unmoving body, her wig blowing majestically through the air. Only the strongest could handle the power of the wig. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to lonely_reader because they wanted wigs. On a side note, if anyone wants to leave suggestions for objects to use in the future, that'd be cool. You can leave it on this chapter or a future chapter if you think of one after I've updated. I can't promise to use all of them but well...I think I've done pretty well so far.


	9. You cannot escape Jason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rip Marinette, avoiding Jason is canceled.

So, it turns out that Marinette _couldn't_ just avoid Todd. ~~Because apparently loving people who hate you is hereditary.~~

* * *

*Marinette detective skills ~baby~* 

It started with the pictures on the walls. She hadn't noticed them at first, too distracted with her constant analyses on Master Bruce. Well, she had noticed that they contained his disciples, but she hadn't thought much of it. Every picture was similar, it contained one or multiple people with black hair and blue eyes. It had taken her several days to realize that Todd was in some of those pictures. A lot of them, actually. They were just scattered around the house, although some of them were more hidden than others. 

It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that Marinette had freaked out a bit when she realized that Todd's face was _everywhere._

In those pictures, he looked different from how he had looked in the League. He looked... more like how he looked when she had burgers with him, although in the pictures he was carefree, bright. He lacked the edge of tiredness or aura of danger. She couldn't imagine smiling the way he smiled. It felt weird to see her monster look like this. He only looked a year or two older than her and... well he looked like a child. 

The weirdest one was a picture of him when he was around the age of 13, curled up on a massive chair while reading a book. She didn't know why that image stuck to her, but it did. 

Marinette observed the way Master Bruce _looked_ at those pictures, with longing, regret, and grief. There were times when he just seemed to stare at a picture of him for minutes, hours. It was like Todd was still dead. 

* * *

Marinette watched as Red Hood stood before Batman and Nightwing. They were all tense as if waiting for someone to blow.

Batman growled as Red Hood suddenly took out his gun and shot the person behind him, a traitor who had been trailing Nightwing for the past ten minutes. They must have been an amateur to have been caught so easily, probably one that had been hoping to increase their rank through accomplishing difficult tasks. 

"What? No thank you for saving your ass?" Red Hood scoffed, eyes searching for another target. She would be disappointed if he didn't catch the two hidden in the right building. 

He caught one, but Batman pushed his arm before he could shoot, causing him to miss his target. "What was that for!?" He shouted angrily, already moving to get another shot. Marinette tensed at his tone but her mind calmed at this version of Todd. She _knew_ this version of Todd. The familiarity strangely comforted her. 

Red Hood looked around but his target was gone. "Jason," Batman said, grabbing his attention. "We don't kill people." Todd glared at him. 

"That's all you have to say after you messed up my shot?!" He looked around to find the traitors again but they were out of his view. "Ugh! Because of you, I lost them!" Batman gave him a heavy stare of disappointment. It was so heavy it made Marinette feel bad despite having nothing to do with the situation. It only made Todd angrier. 

"Don't give me that look, _Bruce_! Gotham would be better with these people _dead,_ instead of letting them continue to kill Gotham each time they escape." Marinette frowned at his reckless usage of Master Bruce's name. Did he _want_ his identity to be discovered?

"Did you even see him? Losing your touch, old man?" Jason angrily snarled, gesturing at the dead body. Beside Batman, Nightwing stood with a tired expression. 

"Jay, we knew that they were following us. We were testing their skill level before confronting them." Nightwing explained. Jason just twirled his gun. 

"Well, this was much faster than yours and effective too."

"We wanted them alive to get intel. We suspected that they're part of the League of Assassins. It would have been _nice_ if they were alive to do the talking." 

Jason glared at Batman. "That had been the _plan_ until someone messed up my shot. I wouldn't have killed that one, just make sure they didn't get away." Todd walked off the roof, grappling away in a fit of anger. He didn't see the sad postures of Nightwing and Batman, both of them watching him go with sad eyes. 

"He'll be fine, B. What happened wasn't your fault." 

"I should have been able to save him in time." 

"No one's perfect. Besides, he's fine now. He's just... a little extra violent." 

"He's taking away so many chances." Nightwing sighed. 

"I know, B. We'll help him change that." 

Nightwing sat at the edge of the roof, resting his head in his hand. The short proximity it was to her hiding place was the only reason she heard him quietly mutter: "I miss you Jaybird". 

That night, both Nightwing and Batman fought poorly, lost in memories. 

* * *

Despite this new revelation that Todd was needed, Marinette was still reluctant to actually include him. It was foolish of her to not be joyous over another strong protector for Damian, but her fear was overpowering any sense of trust. She decided that until she knew how to fix the situation, she'd put it on hold. Hopefully, by then her emotions wouldn't be so impractical.

* * *

Marinette was only looking for the Tumeric. She did not mean to brush her hands on a book with a black, leather cover. This did not stop her from taking the book out and opening it out of curiosity. 

It was full of pictures. Happy ones. The first few were full of Grayson, but they soon bled into pictures of Todd.

Oh. Whereas Grayson had Master Bruce in many of his pictures, Todd had Alfred. She noticed that many of their photos were in the kitchen. In every one of them, Alfred held a fond smile that she rarely saw directed at her. 

She flinched as a hand rested on her shoulder. Pennyworth. 

"Enjoying the pictures?" Marinette moved to apologize but he waved it off. "You did no harm in satisfying your curiosity." He pointed at the pictures. 

"Jason was the only one who took an interest in cooking before you appeared." Pennyworth looked fondly at the only pictures. "He was also the only one who managed to make something edible." Marinette's gaze landed on a picture of him tossing a pancake in the air, his expression one of great joy. Alfred was watching him in the background, his eyes proud as he watched him catch it in the pan. It was reminiscent of when Alfred had taught her the same trick. Pennyworth sighed, closing his eyes as if in pain. 

"I wish to cook with him at least once more one day." His voice held great longing but he managed to look at her with pride in his eyes. The same pride his eyes gave Todd. It still felt foreign for anyone to look at her like that. "It'd be my greatest pleasure to see the two of you work together." Marinette inwardly shuddered at the thought. 

Pennyworth looked back to the pictures, a sad smile growing on his face. "Master Bruce is a stubborn man, always at odds between justice and love. I can only pray that love wins this time, for everyone's sake." 

Well, it seems like Marinette had no choice. She'd force Todd into the Batcrew even if it killed her in the process. For Damian. For Father. For Alfred Pennyworth. 

* * *

~Blooper~

As Marinette realized exactly whose face was scattered around the mansion, her only thought was: oh _heck no. I am not dealing with this._ Something inside of her snapped within that moment and she calmly started picking up every picture with Todd's face in it. It took her an entire day to find every single one, but eventually, she managed to take them all without anyone noticing.

The number of pictures containing Todd was frustratingly large. It took up an entire room to fit every single one. Marinette took out a match. It was time to get some free therapy. 

Marinette frolicked in a small clearing within a forest. Around her rained burning pictures. She would probably be punished for this but at that moment she didn't care. 

A part of her pain had been lifted as the last picture burned to ashes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left a suggestion for future bloopers! I've already thought of new ways to add them to future chapters :D


	10. WOULD YOU PLEASE JUST READ ONE COMMUNICATION BOOK MASTER BRUCE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred loves Marinette and is sick of Master Bruce's crap (basically some Alfred and Marinette fluff).

The silence she and Pennyworth worked in was always comfortable. It was peaceful, with only the occasional muttering of instruction or question. So it was a surprise when Alfred started talking to her. 

"Marinette, can you follow me for a moment?" 

"Of course." Alfred briskly walked down several hallways and what seemed like one or two secret passages. Marinette was thankful that she'd learned several techniques in memorizing paths, otherwise she might find herself lost forever. 

They stopped in a room full of pictures. Marinette secretly prayed that they didn't have Todd's face in it. She'd seen way too many in the past few days in her futile attempts at research. 

"I have cleaned every room in this house for decades. Long enough to memorize every single room down to each piece of furniture." She couldn't tell if that was an amazing feat or not. It sounded like it was despite the years of service he'd been in. The manor was huge and lavish, with each room filled with it's own unique pieces of furniture. "So imagine my surprise when I found a little girl that could fit perfectly in this room." What was Pennyworth talking ab- oh. Marinette looked at the pictures. Most of them held the same girl in them at various ages. One thing stayed the same though, she still looked like Marinette. Same eyes, same hair, similar face. Of course, they didn't look _exactly_ the same. This girl smiled in a way she never would. And she looked so fragile compared to Marinette ~~(because Marinette be muscular as heck bro)~~. But the similarities were uncanny. 

"Do you know who this is?" Pennyworth asked. The worst mistake would be assuming that he knew something he may not. 

"Master Bruce's mother, I assume?" She replied, playing dumb. 

"Yes, which would make her your grandmother." So he did know. There really was no point in denying it. Her concern had never been Pennyworth knowing and there were too many pieces that clicked for her to make a believable lie. 

"He isn't ready to know." Marinette just had to make sure he didn't tell Fa- Master Bruce. 

Alfred looked at her with sad eyes. "I know." He put her hand on her shoulder, gently leading her through the room as an attempt to show her the rest of the pictures. Her attention was torn between him and soaking in every detail of her grandparents. 

"Master Bruce has always been one for control. Ever since your grandparents died, his need to have control over situations has been near the point of obsession, desperate not to feel the same helplessness as he did that night. Master Damian has shaken his carefully built world. He cannot learn everything about his life or predict his every move the way he did Master Richard, Jason, and Tim.  Worst of all, he did not choose Damian the same way he chose Master Richard, Jason, and eventually, Tim. Choosing is essential to his world of control. Even more important than his very set tradition of adopting another child only after his current Robin is ready to move on." 

Alfred gestured towards her. "Master Damian is already one variable that he was not prepared for. Having a second variable of his level would drive Master Bruce mad." 

She nodded in agreement, having already come to that conclusion. "A background servant girl is better than a new blood child."  Marinette tore her eyes from a picture of her laughing grandmother on a swing. "But that's not the only reason having two children would drive Master Bruce mad." 

Pennyworth closed his eyes, as if in pain. "Guilt is a powerful thing, Marinette. I'm afraid that Master Bruce blames himself for Master Jason's death." 

"Despite accepting Master Drake, Master Bruce doesn't treat him the same way as Master Grayson and Todd, does he?" She asked, piecing Master Bruce's character together. 

Pennyworth sighed. "Despite Master Tim's greatest efforts, he will always keep distance between himself and his children, in fear that one of them will cause him the same pain Master Jason did." 

It was Marinette's turn to close her eyes in pain. "I suppose that he will continue to do this until the situation between him and Todd is resolved?" 

"I'm afraid so." There was a beat of silence as Marinette's mind split between cursing her luck and speeding through ways to have them make up as soon as possible. It was tempting to just knock them out and leave them trapped in a room together. With Todd's ego and Master Bruce's need for control, there was no way having either of them in control was going to work. Todd would take it too far or would get angry if Master Bruce was in control. 

"Despite Master Bruce's painful lack of communication, he has already started to love Master Damian. For all his faults, he is still a man with love to give. He simply must follow his heart more than his head." Alfred reached around her, wrapping his arms around her. "He may not acknowledge you now but he will love you, not because you are his blood daughter but because you are a brilliant young lady that deserves to be loved." It hit her, in that moment, what she'd given up. And for the first time in years, she let herself cry, safe in Alfred's arms. 

"He wasn't ready." She cried, soaking his shirt. Those simple words did little to describe her pain, but Alfred understood anyways. 

"He will be." He replied, holding her tighter. "He'll love you just as much as I do." And just for a moment, Marinette let herself believe. 

* * *

~Blooper/possible scene that might have happened~ 

Alfred stood there, allowing Marinette to let out all that she'd been unable to process until now. He silently cursed out Master Bruce as he listened to her sobbing. He understood what his adopted son was going through, he really did, but his method of coping after Jason would only serve to drive his other children away. He could _not_ lose more of his grandchildren because of this. 

He felt Marinette go lax, leaning into him as she drifted into unconsciousness. He was careful to lift her without waking her, gently placing her onto her bed after using some secret passages as a short cut. Being an ex-spy in an old manor had its perks. 

The second the door closed, he marched into his room, taking out a huge pile of books that he should have forced Master Bruce to read from day one. 

He raced to Master Bruce's room with a stack of books that was in the mid-thirties without dropping a single one. He slammed open the door without warning, startling Master Bruce. 

"Alfred wha-" He ~~yeeted~~ threw the first book at him, a book about communicating healthily with your children. _Dummies Guide to Acting like an Actual Fucking Parent._ "READ SOME FUCKING BOOKS YOU GORMLESS PILLOCK!" He screamed very Britishly. The book beaned Master Bruce on the head. Good, maybe it would sink in better if it was physically rammed into his skull. He was sick and tired of problems being caused by Master Bruce's lack of communication with his family. Maybe after this, he'd try a little harder. Because if he had to watch Marinette cry again because she wasn't accepted by her Father, he was going to get his shotgun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Did I have fun looking up British curse words? ...maybe :D The doughnuts are happily swearing a storm, do not be surprised if a doughnut calls you a Bell Ended Skiver ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> Dedicated to lonely_reader because I loved the idea of Alfred getting sick of Bruce's shit and just finding the bluntest way possible to tell him that he's being an idiot. 
> 
> For everyone else who gave item suggestions, keep it up! Don't get discouraged if I don't use them right away, I'm saving them for very specific moments that make sense ;)


	11. mY wAFFleS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephanie is devastated

Marinette watched as Batman and Redhood dramatically fought while beating a group of thugs. This by itself already gave her incredibly high blood pressure. Unfortunately, that wasn't the only thing that made her heart beat out of her chest. 

Damian had decided to come. It hadn't been Master Bruce's first choice. He had been the reason Tim couldn't fight as Robin, after all. But the other choice would have been leaving an injured Tim with a raging child assassin, and Alfred was tired of cleaning the messes he made. 

Seeing another Robin replacement had obviously set Todd off, and so here they were, distracting each other in the middle of a dangerous battle. While Damian was in possible danger. Marinette was centimeters away from screaming. 

Marinette took out a box of frozen waffles. She had found them while wandering around the store, overwhelmed by the number of products. Waffles were less traceable than actual weapons and cheap. She threw one just as a random thug shot at Damian. The frozen waffle hit the wall with a bullet in it. 

Damian himself wasn't doing so bad. But he was hindered by the bright uniform and cape, neither of which he had trained to work in. He was also limited in technique, as Batman had made it clear that killing was not allowed. Marinette watched in half amusement half sympathy as Damian hit another enemy in the neck. Just because he wasn't allowed to kill didn't mean he was banned from causing unnecessary pain. He seemed to take pleasure in hurting each thug in a different way, all unneeded.

Marinette threw another waffle as a thug aimed his gun at Batman's head. It probably wouldn't have killed him, but Batman did not need any more head injuries. She begrudgingly protected Todd as well, if he got injured then Batman would only get more distracted. 

She froze when she heard a footstep near her. Marinette barely had time to dodge as a shot rang out, hitting where she had just been. A traitor with a gun. It looked kind of weird, most members of the League didn't use guns. They were trained on how to use them but using other weapons was a sign of years of training and skill. Either this one was a newbie or one smart enough not to put honour over survival. 

The traitor pointed straight at her and shot. 

It hit the waffle she held in front of her chest. There was a beat of confusion as the traitor stared at the waffle. He shot again. She threw the waffle and it landed on the ground with a bullet stuck in it. He looked at her, absolutely baffled. She just stared at him with another waffle in her hand. She slowly took a bite as if to taunt him. Inwardly she grimaced, frozen waffles were not good. He shot multiple times and multiple waffles fell to the ground moments after. 

She threw a frozen waffle straight at his head, knocking him out. She made sure to look for any hiding traitors before shooting him in the head. She then went back to watching the fight, occasionally throwing a few frozen waffles. 

* * *

Jason stared in confusion at the waffle that had hit the ground moments prior. He had been preparing himself for a hit, only to hear the sound of something hitting the wall. A frozen waffle. A waffle had saved him from getting shot. What the fuck. 

He turned to Batman, an instinct after years of trusting that he'd know everything. Bruce looked just as bewildered as he was.

"Stephanie?" Bruce muttered to himself, eyeing the waffles that surrounded them. "No, there's no way she'd-" 

There was a scream of horror. "ARE THOSE WASTED WAFFLES!?" A girl in a purple bat costume yelled, eyes wide as she bent over to stare at all the waffles on the ground. Jason vaguely remembered seeing her around. Wasn't her name Batgirl? He could agree with her sentiment, wasted food in general was just a tragedy. 

Batgirl whimpered at the sight of blood covered waffles. She hastily turned her eyes from them and picked up a "clean" waffle with a bullet hole in it. 

"Batgirl, do not eat the waffle." Batman ordered, his voice full of exasperation. 

"My immune system can handle a bit of dirt!" She turned the waffle so that Batman could see both sides. "And look! No blood!" Batman just gave her a tired expression. In that moment, Jason could see himself back with Batman, annoying Bruce with Batgirl. He tore that thought away. Too much had happened for him to go back to playing happy family. 

"Batgirl, you can just buy _clean_ waffles," Jason heard Batman say as he examined the other waffles. They all either had blood on them or bullets in them. Interesting. Based on the angle, the waffle thrower came from the building in front of them, near the 3rd or 4th floor. Jason switched on the binocular setting in his helmet. Nothing. Whoever had thrown those waffles was gone. 

"Yeah but then these waffles would remain w _asted."_

"Tt it would be rather in character for you to eat waffles from the floor like a peasant" Replacement number 2 scoffed. Wow, and here Jason was getting all mad at Replacement one. He would take that one over this little brat any day. 

Batgirl just shrugged it off. "Food is food, sometimes you eat what you have to to survive." Replacement 2 just scoffed again, as if even the thought dirted his superiority. 

"Batgirl I will _buy_ you waffles if you don't eat the ones on the ground." There was a pause, the waffle already partially in her mouth. She took it out. 

"Fine, I'm coming over tomorrow with Babs and Star for a good ol' Waffle Day." She dropped the waffle, pouting as it hit the ground. Batman picked one up from the ground. 

"I'll see if I can find who threw these. I need to see if they're a friend or foe." Jason rolled his eyes, aware that Batman could't see it because of his helmet. He was just being paranoid, whoever threw these waffles was a food waster but no baddie. They'd definitely saved him from a couple of new wounds. Yeah, none of them would have probably killed him because of his bulletproof outfit, but they would have still hurt like a bitch. 

"Tell me who they are when you find out, I want words with the waffle waster." Batgirl requested as she grapple-hooked away. 

There was a beat of silence and then Jason took off as well, carrying a waffle with him. Maybe he'd be able to find their mysterious helper first. It'd be cool to team up with someone who used waffles as a weapon, and if it pissed off Bruce in the process, even better. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can frozen waffles actually stop bullets? Probably not. But well, you probably should have stopped expecting realism after a giant doughnut killed Bruce that one time :/ 
> 
> Thank you Chaotic_Gremlin_Child for the waffle suggestion! If anyone has any more ideas, feel free to leave it in the chat.


	12. Waffles but the good kind (Marinette meets the girls part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Help this took me forever (also I think auto-corrected is British it keeps adding u's to my words)
> 
> Marinette has a thing for muscular arms and pretty hair

So it was official, Master Bruce and Todd were _not_ allowed to continue their feud… Marinette would just have to find some way to get them to cooperate with each other. She mourned for her sanity.

Marinette flopped onto her bed after her short, impromptu grieving session, exhausted from a stressful night of keeping an eye on Damian. Good news, Damian would live another day! Bad news, Marinette's eyes might not if she had to watch him fight in that stupid outfit every night. It was an insult to his assassin lineage and the colours were just... no. She could only be thankful that Drake had updated the outfit before Damian had started wearing it. If Damian had worn what Grayson or Todd had, her eyes would’ve stood no chance. 

Marinette stayed up the rest of the night, theorizing ways to lessen the tension between Todd and Master Bruce. Hmm... perhaps she could get some help from Alfred or one of Master Bruce's former disciples.

* * *

That afternoon, Marinette watched as Alfred opened the door to an excited blonde woman. She assumed that it was the same girl from last night, the strange purple one who had been devastated about her usage of the frozen waffles. Marinette didn't really get it, the waffles hadn’t been _that_ good. The younger girl edged away from her still, just in case the blonde somehow figured out the crime she'd committed against waffles.

"Hey, Alfie! How're you doing?" the woman exclaimed. Alfred smiled warmly at her.

“I'm doing quite well, Miss Brown. I heard that you're going on a Waffle Day with Miss Gordon and Miss Kory?" 

"Yeah! But I'm actually here to ask if we can take someone with us." Brown leaned in a little whisper to Alfred, who also leaned down to match her. "Dick told us that there's a female mini-you that came with the new kid. Can I bring her along? I don't want another hangout to turn into me third-wheeling again." Alfred nodded.

"If Marinette wishes, she may go with you." Marinette froze in her position before hesitantly walking towards Alfred and the woman. Brown looked at her, shocked. "How'd you get Alfie to call you by your name and without honorifics?"

Marinette frowned at her, confused by the question. "I'm a servant just like him, why would he ever refer to me with honorifics?" 

Brown just blinked at her. "But… you're a child. And Alfie doesn't let anyone in his domain." 

Alfred tutted. "Learn how to use the wash and kitchen correctly and perhaps I will let you," he said, his eyes boring into hers, filled with unspoken reminders of the past. Brown awkwardly laughed, shrinking away from his gaze.

"So, do you want to come with us?" the blonde asked. Marinette looked up nervously at Alfred, her thoughts centralizing around her concern, could she leave Damian alone for a day? Alfred seemed to have seen her silent fear, and sent her a reassuring glance, encouraging her to go. Well, she supposed that this would be a good opportunity to learn more about the relationship between Master Bruce and Todd. 

"I would love to," she replied, smiling sweetly at Brown. 

"Ugh, my eyes, you're too pure for this family." Marinette was tempted to inform Brown that she definitely wasn't pure, but well… that would have ruined the character she was playing.

Brown led her to the couches. "Now we just have to wait for Babs and Star to show! I came early so I could be the first to talk to you." For her? Why? It didn't make sense to use this strategy - the more people she had, the more intimidating she would be. Unless her goal was to interrogate Marinette using a soft invasion? Was Brown trying to gain her trust first?

"So, how do you like the manor?" she asked, oblivious to the other’s inner thoughts.

Marinette swung her feet back and forth, playing the role of an innocent little girl as best she could.

"I like it! It's fun to cook with Alfred. The manor is super big though!" She made a face as if remembering troubling times within the manor. Brown laughed. 

"Oh yeah! This manor is huge! I can _still_ get lost here despite how often I come over." 

Marinette decided that Brown had a nice smile. She gazed at her light hair, fascinated by the colour. There weren't any blondes in the League. Or if there were, they were quick to dye their hair. It was just logical to eliminate anything that could be noticed in the shadows. Although… considering the large golden bat on her suit and the golden belt, these rules obviously didn’t apply to Gotham vigilantes.

"You come from a secret camp in the mountains, right?" Well, Marinette wouldn't describe it like _that…_ but close enough.

"Yes."

"So... have they ever served waffles?" 

"No, but from what little experience I've had with them, they weren’t anything worthy of love." Brown looked appalled at what she'd said.

"What waffle did you eat to have that reaction? We need to get you some good waffles _ASAP_!" 

At that moment, Grayson burst from… wherever he'd come from, launching himself onto a low-hanging chandelier before jumping onto the ground. He was practically vibrating with excitement. "DID I HEAR SOMETHING ABOUT WAFFLES?!"

"...you're not invited,” Brown deadpanned. Grayson visibly drooped before perking up again. 

"When are Babs and Kori coming?"

"We're right behind you, idiot." Came a reply from a smirking woman in a wheelchair. Behind her was an orange woman with fiery red hair. Marinette couldn't stop herself from staring in awe. Their arm muscles were so big! Brown's arms held muscle but these two were on a completely different level! _Especially_ the woman in the wheelchair!

Marinette had been trained by strong women for as long as she could remember, but that never stopped her from admiring another woman's muscles. She couldn't wait for the day _her_ arms looked like that.

Grayson was practically swooning next to her. "Babs! Kory! I missed you~"

Gordon snorted. "You dork, we've only been apart for two days." Grayson dramatically leaned back, allowing Kory to catch him without hesitation. As Kory held him bridal style, she shared a look with Gordon as if to silently communicate fond exasperation over his foolish behaviour. 

"Two days too long~" he bemoaned.

Kory smiled at him, not an ounce of struggle shown as she supported his not-inconsiderable weight. "I missed you too, Dick.”

"See! Kory gets it! You have to get into the 'reunited' mood!!" 

Gordon just rolled her eyes and pushed Grayson out of Kory's arms. He shrieked, bracing for impact with the floor before Gordon caught him by the back of his shirt. She lifted his torso up until they were face to face and then kissed him. "There, we've reunited. Now there's someone else I'd like to meet.”

Grayson just pouted, still hanging by his shirt as Gordon motioned at Marinette to come closer. His pout melted as Kory started playing with his hair. 

She came near her and Gordon's expression changed from a cocky smirk to a blank stare. Marinette forced herself to stay still instead of shifting nervously. "You look like one of Bruce's," Gordon said bluntly. "H o w. Bruce didn't even choose to adopt you - how does he always get the blue-eyed _and_ black-haired children?!" Dick chuckled from her arms.

"Actually, Damian has green eyes." Gordon turned to stare at him. 

"Are you saying that the _only_ biological child of his is the one that _looks_ like him the least," she said, her flat tone conveying more disbelief than Marinette expected.

"Jason would take offence to that, he’s _very_ proud of his differences," Grayson half-heartedly protested. Kory hummed in agreement while Gordon rolled her eyes.

"Oh please, Jason is the most like Bruce out of all of you. All broody and stubborn." Dick snickered. 

" _That's_ not looks, though."

"Well, they both _look_ broody and stubborn. Jason's also got the same gruffness and, well, sorry babe, but he's definitely got a bigger muscle mass than you. Same with Bruce." 

"Well, I can't just take _all_ the good traits."

"What are you talking about? You barely took any." 

" _So_ rude." Grayson made a face as if offended, but the turn of his lip at the sound of Kory’s quiet giggles made it obvious that he wasn’t.

"I could be ruder by dropping you." 

"Kory will catch me!" Grayson said with complete confidence. 

"Hey, Kory - _don't_ catch the doofus." 

"Okay!" 

"Kory, you _traitor_." She just smiled innocently at him. 

“Don’t smile like that, you’re making it very hard for me to even _pretend_ to be angry.” 

“Perhaps I should remove my hand from your hair. That will surely ease your struggles as well.” Kory teasingly replied. Grayson grabbed her hand as if worried she’d follow through with her “threat”. 

“Don’t you dare!” 

Gordon snicked “simp”. Simp? Marinette hadn't learned that in her vocabulary. Kory didn't look like she understood that either. 

“We’re both simps for Kory, don't act like you’re any better!” Simp? Short for simpleton? She guessed it made sense, Grayson _was_ acting a bit foolish. 

“...I can’t argue with that.” 

"ANYWAYS! In Jason's defence,” Grayson argued, bringing the conversation back from its tangent, “he's got the stripe and he's shorter."

"Your defence of Jason sucks - _you're_ also shorter. Besides, you’ve got the flexibility that Bruce doesn't have."

"Yes, your flexibility is truly admirable," Kory said, nodding in agreement. 

"I don't like how you can compliment and betray me in the same sentence so easily." 

"Well, it helps that you're easy to betray." Kory, replied, sharing a mischievous look with Gordon. 

"Are you trying to tell me something?" 

Gordon let out a small snort before letting go of his shirt. 

He hit the ground and melted into a puddle of offended pride."Ooowww, the agonyyyy."

"You drama king, you only fell like three feet." 

“You’ve jumped off buildings much higher than three feet!” the other red-head added. 

Grayson continued to moan in fake anguish.

"How could you betray me like this..." he sobbed.

Gordon just rolled her eyes while Kory patted his head like a puppy. 

"Not that I don't love teasing Dick, but if I have to wait any longer for waffles I might explode." Brown interrupted, bouncing on her toes. "Besides! Marinette just told me that waffles aren't the best thing in the universe! We need to take her to a _good_ waffle place to correct her terribly incorrect views."

"Why can't I join?" Dick whined. He didn’t bother to look up, his words partially muffled since his face was pressed on the floor. 

"Sorry Dick, I refuse to handle _all three_ of your sickening lovey-doveyness on my glorious waffle day," Brown replied, pushing Kory and Gordon out of the door. Marinette's eyes stayed on Grayson as she was dragged out the door. In response, Grayson smiled and pointed his thumbs up at her.

Hopefully, she'd be able to get something useful out of this... 

* * *

Brown drove crazily down the road, and Marinette was sure that she had broken at least one traffic law. At this point, Marinette felt that compared to her, _she_ would have been a better candidate, despite being unaware of where they were going.

Gordon seemed to agree. " _Why_ did we allow you to drive again?!" She asked, hitting her head on the dashboard. 

"Ummm because you can't drive this car, Kory isn't allowed to drive after what happened last time, and Marinette is underage." 

Gordon turned to Marinette, who had been partially distracted by Kory's hair. It was just... so red. And the tips were orange, like fire. "Hey Marinette, do you know how to drive?" Well, she knew how to _drive,_ just not the American driving laws. 

To say yes or no? The less they knew of her knowledge, the bigger advantage she had. But she could be easily caught in a lie if Damian starts driving.... she had a strong feeling he was going to steal the Batmobile. 

"I have an idea of how to drive." 

"At this point that might be better than Steph's driving," Gordon replied, glaring at Brown. 

"My driving is not that bad!" Stephanie protested as the car launched several inches into the air. This would be the most humiliating way to die. 

"Stephanie is a decent driver" Kory agreed, completely immune to the fast swerves and numerous bumps. 

"Star, you can't _say_ anything. You're the only one who wouldn't _die_ in this hellscape." Gordon argued, her voice wrapped in fondness. 

"That is true. But it could be worse!" There was a long screeching noise as Stephanie turned again. The multiple honks spoke for themself. 

"Do I even _want_ to know how this could be _worse_?" Gordon asked, clutching the car handle. 

"I could be driving!" Kory said brightly. 

"Star, I love you, but please don't remind of _that_ time right now." 

"Why not?" Both Brown and Kory asked. 

"I do _not_ want my last memory to be of that poor car." 

"Well! Good news then! This won't be your last memory!" The car abruptly stopped in front of a large building with giant glass panes. 

"Oh thank _god._ Star get me out, I don't want to look at a car for at _least_ two hours." 

"Should I get your wheelchair or do you want me to carry you?" 

"Piggy-back me for now, I want Stephanie to carry my wheelchair as punishment." 

"You guys _suck_ ," she replied, pouting. Brown picked up the folded wheelchair and put it on like a backpack. "But I'm willing to overlook this because it'S WAFFLE TIME!" 

* * *

Waffles, Marinette had found, were _much_ better warm and covered in sauces. Her favorite was probably the strawberry-flavoured one, but the maple syrup was a close second. It wasn't something she'd eat often, but she could understand Brown's obsession with them. 

"This isn't even the end! Later, we're having waffle sandwiches and the b e s t waffle of them a l l: THE BELGIAN WAFFLE!" Brown declared, waving her arms around enthusiastically. Marinette was amazed at how much food they were going to eat. If the amount of food they were going to eat was even _close_ to the giant stack of waffles already eaten, it would take her _ages_ to finish. She felt so full! 

They walked around for a bit, the three women chatting away while occasionally including Marinette. She didn't mind, she was too distracted by the different stores to participate. 

"Now that Steph's waffle craving has been lowered, we should get Marinette some clothes," Gordon mentioned an hour later. Marinette looked down at her current clothes. It was something Alfred had gotten her, a white blouse and black skirt, both packed with weapons. Was there something wrong with it? 

"There's nothing wrong with what you have right now, but it'd be fun to add some color to your wardrobe," Brown explained as if hearing her silent confusion. She didn't really see the point, the black and white aesthetic was convenient as everything matched. Color would make it harder to match, and it'd be harder for her to fade among the ignorable black and white world of servants. 

"Ooh yes! You can match with Barbara, Steph and I!" Kory cheered. That was... a very convincing argument. It was an honour to match with such strong people, especially when they'd been kind to her. 

She looked at their outfits. Brown had a dark green jacket with large pockets (stretch twill jacket), a purple shirt, and blue jeans. Kory had black a loose black shirt that showed her shoulders (cold shoulder shirt) and a knee-length purple skirt (circle skirt). Gordon was dressed the least casual, with a form-fitting and professional blue shirt without sleeves with the sides lined with black and a black skirt (pencil skirt but the looser ones). It looked like her future wardrobe would be primarily blue and purple. 

She could work with that, as long as they weren't particularly extravagant, they wouldn't stand out like red or yellow. 

"This! is! going! to! be! so! much! f u n !" Brown exclaimed, dragging her into a shop with statues posing in various pretty outfits. 

Marinette could only hope so. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may be wondering how Kory piggy-backed Barabra if she's wearing a pencil skirt. And... well... that's just Barabra magic babes (don't worry she's wearing shorts underneath). 
> 
> How do y'all feel about the characterization of Kory, Barabra, and Stephanie? I actually don't know a lot about their characters so if you think they're not acting right, tips on how to make them better would be nice.


	13. Frickin Sporks (Marinette meets the girls part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Origin story to Marinette's interest in fashion. 
> 
> Happy late birthday (rip was November 7th so I just missed it by an hour) to she-who-must-not-be-named!

“Fun” was the wrong term to use. More like… fascinating. Marinette was fascinated by the various types of clothing in this store. There were pretty blue dresses that flare out at your ankles to sets of pink clothes decorated in penguins. She touched a shirt made of fake fur. It was so _soft_. Her eyes found their way to a skirt with line patterns on them and she was captivated by it, tracing the design with her hands. While she had been aware that clothing styles were innumerable, it was different being able to _feel_ the clothes and examine them without anyone’s discomfort. 

She had all but forgotten the three women for the first twenty minutes, her mind already racing with ideas of how she could change pieces of clothing to fit her preferences. Skirts were rather fun to play with, it was easy to hide weapons if she changed the right area. She found one with ruffles and was immediately inspired: ruffles would make it harder to spot an opening for a pocket!

She felt a finger tap her shoulder and she squeezed the fabric in her hand to avoid her instinctual reaction - attack whoever had touched her.

“I’m glad that you’re interested in fashion, but do you want to try on some of these clothes instead of just feeling them?” Brown asked. There was a place to try these on? She looked at all the clothing and was suddenly overwhelmed by the choices. She wanted to try on so many but it’d take too long! She turned to Brown as a silent plea for help. Her eyes sparkled in excitement as she told the other two women to find clothes for her.

* * *

The result was... interesting. Marinette found herself in a small room with only a curtain to protect her privacy. A stack of clothes lay next to her, separated by the distinct style of each person. Brown's were the most casual, Kory's were the most feminine and colourful, and Gordon's were the most formal, varying in formality depending on a supposed event. All three had ordered her to show them the result of each outfit.

Marinette tried on a set from Brown first. Black jeans, a purple shirt with dinosaur designs on them (like the google T-Rex) and a black jacket that matched Brown's. She was touched at the obvious match. 

She walked out and the women quietly applauded. "Yes! My matching buddy!" Brown cheered, holding her hand out. Marinette looked at it in confusion until she noticed Gordon, who was pointing to her hand and using the other to hit Kory's. Oh! A physical sign of something! She slapped Brown's hand. 

"How do you feel about this outfit?" Gordon asked. 

"I like the jacket but these pants feel weird. Why are they so constricting?" These did _not_ feel efficient for fighting. Marinette was a bit confused as to why Brown wore jeans when she fought as well. Didn't she know to always be on her guard? Who knew when someone might figure out her identity and attack in her civilian life? 

Gordon looked pointedly at Brown, who in turn, shrugged. "They're just the style and they're kind of comfy once you get used to them." Marinette decided she would _never_ get used to these. She wouldn't give them the chance. "If you don't like them that's fine, I put in multiple types of pants for you to try." 

"Try mine next!" Kory demanded excitedly. 

~cut because I don't want to keep writing her reaction to _every piece of clothing_ and I don't think anyone wants to read it either~

Marinette walked out wearing the last outfit for her to try - a pretty white dress with purple, pink, and orange floral patterns (one of Kory's choices). It wasn't the most efficient for fighting but it was still better than the jeans. She gave a twirl, enjoying the feeling of the dress flaring out around her. Gordon and Kory clapped, sitting next to the clothes she had approved of. 

"Where's Brown?" Marinette asked, taking note of Gordon and Kory's different shirts. They were both white with an illustration of waffles on them. 

" _Stephanie_ is in the process of changing," Gordon replied, adding emphasis on Brown's first name. They had been trying to convince her to call them by their first name for the past two hours but she wasn't ready to give up that formality yet. 

Gordon handed Marinette a waffle shirt. "Put it on, Steph wants our group to having matching waffle shirts for Waffle Day." Oh! She's part of the group!

She paused. "Has this already been paid for?" At Gordon's nod, she rushed to the stalls to change.

She didn't notice the look of fondness Gordon had after watching Marinette's eyes brighten in delight. 

* * *

Marinette walked out of the store wearing the waffle shirt, her long, formal black skirt, and the matching jacket she had put on as soon as it had been paid for (Brown had been very pleased). She also sported a pair of black earmuffs that were comfortable, even if the risk of muffling her hearing made her nervous. She had questioned paying for everything but Gordon had waved it off, stating that her Fa- Master Bruce would be happy to pay for her clothes.

She knew that she looked a bit silly wearing multiple styles that didn't match, but she couldn't help but enjoy this moment of childishness. No one would judge her for her style the same way they would an adult. 

It helped that Gordon's shirt didn't match her fancy skirt either. 

* * *

"Brown," Marinette called, tugging on her jacket sleeve "do you know anything about the relationship between Todd and Master Bruce?" Brown frowned, wrinkling her nose. 

"Don't call Bruce 'Master Bruce', it's weird. And do I have to repeat that you should call me Steph?" Marinette didn't wrinkle her nose in turn but she was close. She had decided that the only way to keep the heartache away was to distance herself from Father in any way possible. For her, that meant calling Father "Master Bruce" instead of "Bruce". It was just too close to casual. Too close to a wrong implication. Because Father had been completely cold to her, almost acting like she wasn't there. His avoidance was just a coping technique but it still hurt. As for Brown... they weren't particularly close, even if Brown acted otherwise. Why would she drop formalities? 

"...Stephanie.... do you know the relationship between Todd and Bruce Wayne?" Brown groaned. 

"Close enough, I guess. If you wanna get the deep details you should ask Babs, but from what I've seen, Jason and Bruce's relationship is just begging to be fixed but both are _way_ too stubborn to be the ones who take the first step. And well, Jason's never going to bury the hatchet until Joker is out of the picture. Technically, I guess Jason _has_ tried to do something by _killing_ the Joker, but he also knows that will screw up his relationship with Bruce permanently so I don't think that really counts. But Bruce will never accept murder as an option, so they're kinda at a stalemate. A very, very, smad (sad and mad) stalemate." By then, Gordon had joined the conversation. 

"It's _so_ stupid. Because while Bruce _does_ have an issue with Jason's "kill or nothing will change" rule, the _real_ problem is whether he kills _Joker._ Bruce has got this weird thing for Joker. Because he's the worst of the worst, Bruce has this internal belief that it would _mean_ the most if Joker changed. And Joker can't _change_ if he's dead. But at the same time, Jason will only see it as Bruce choosing his murderer over him, instead of Bruce protecting his strongest belief - that anyone can change to be better. It's mind-numbingly _dumb_ but it makes sense for Bruce. Batman represents his belief that a place so corrupt as Gotham can change if it has people like him trying to make it better. That's why he works so hard to protect it despite how horrendous crime continues to cycle. So _obviously_ he's going to see Joker as a representation of the darkest parts of Gotham - something dangerous but something that can change too. Something that still has _good_ in it. The mere thought that one day the Joker may be a better man blinds him from the pain of the present. It's a difficult thing to deal with when you're on his side but in a way, it's kind of admirable how strongly he keeps that belief. Of course, it's painful for _us_ because he expects us to be the same. We all snap at some point while he never seems to. And while he forgives and understands, the disappointment still _burns._ " 

Brown frowned. "Wait, I thought he did sort of snap? Isn't that why Tim took over as Robin?"

Gordon grimaced. "He was at his line but he never crossed it. He became dangerous but he never actually killed anyone." Brown just groaned, banging her head against Kory's back. 

"And it's even _worse_ for the boys because _they_ have to deal with his stubborn ass 24/7!" Stephanie paused in her banging. "Well, I guess my dad isn't that much better considering he's well... a dick (and a villain)". 

"Well, look on the bright side, you don't have dramatic confrontations on rooftops twice a week to angrily argue about your Dad refusing to kill your murderer." 

"Ugh!" Stephanie when back to banging. (Marinette was a bit worried for her head, Kory's back looked _hard_.) "We should just lock them in a room until they confess all their _stupid stupid_ feelings. In fact! We should have a "I'm being dramatic because I'm dysfunctional" room for when we need to get a few people in the BatFam to just _talk it out."_

"Bold of you to assume they wouldn't kill each other first" Barbara snorted, only half-joking. The BatFam was very, very, messed up. 

"Then we just tie them up! Give them a pacifier while we're at it if they're gonna act like babies!" 

"...that's tempting but this is a problem for Jason and Bruce. Today is Waffle Day, let's not ruin it by talking about drama queens." 

...Marinette now had a very solid idea for forcing Todd and Bruce to reconcile. 

* * *

The rest of the day was spent walking around the mall and trying different meals with waffles in them. There was only one minor altercation when a group of men tried to rob a jewellery store. 

They'd been easy to handle, although Marinette had to be creative in taking them down without alerting the others of her skill. In the end, the men were caught and the manager allowed them to take a piece of jewellery in thanks.

Marinette smiled as she touched her new necklace, silver with three charms, a sun, a waffle, and the symbol of the Bat crew. 

* * *

"Marinette, before we leave, will you take part in a tradition of mine?" Kory asked. A tradition? Marinette nodded, although she was a bit hesitant. "To include someone in my group of loved ones, I take a strand of hair from the new and the old and combine them. I then burn them in my place of comfort." 

"Group of loved ones?" Marinette asked, surprised. 

"Yeah! Of course, you're included in the group of loved ones. You're part of the Waffle Gang now!" Brown explained, her arm hooking around her. 

"Will you partake in this tradition?" Marinette wasn't sure. She was wary of whether this tradition was real. She knew nothing about Kory's culture, perhaps she was telling the truth. But she could also be using this as an excuse to take her hair. 

She was trapped, there was no reason for her to refuse. Not a reason she could give, anyway. Marinette nodded, plucking a hair out with the follicle still intact. 

Gordon and Brown did the same, and Kory carefully placed them in a container that she'd seen her buy earlier. 

"Thank you. I am glad to include you in our group," Kory said after a moment of silence. 

"Okay! One more waffle for the road and then back to the humongous mansion!" Brown exclaimed, dragging Marinette and Kory to a nearby shop. Behind them, Gordon rolled her eyes and followed them. 

Marinette just laughed, the warmth of being included bubbling inside her. Perhaps she could let herself drop the formalities, just for these three. 

* * *

Alfred watched with a proud smile as Marinette came back with bags of clothing and eyes brighter than the sun. It had been a good decision to buy her stifling formal clothes. 

* * *

That night, Barbara laughed at the result for Marinette's DNA. She knew it! Marinette _was_ Bruce's daughter! 

"Thanks for the hair follicle, Star," she said, reaching over to kiss Kory. After a few ~~minutes~~ moments, they broke for air. Kory reached over and ignited the hair strand, going through with the tradition she had made up. 

Barbara debated telling Dick about this new revelation. _Nah, it'll be funnier when he realizes it himself._

If only Barara had known how long that would take. 

* * *

~Scene cutouts~ 

The Waffle Gang stood in front of five muscular men, each one holding a gun. They weren't the only opponents at the moment though. A few bystanders caught her eye, their body language yelling _traitor._ What they were doing at a mall was anyone's guess, maybe they also liked waffles.

Marinette looked around for any temporary weapon. Her eyes caught a bin of used utensils. Yes! She quietly crept over to them, only to grimace when she saw what was inside. _Sporks._ She did _not_ like sporks. They were just a weaker version of a spoon and a fork. Yes, they could be _convenient_ for space but they weren't _good._ If it was substituting a spoon it would hold less than a regular spoon. If it was substituting a fork it wouldn't dig in as deeply as a fork would. It was like using two dull blades instead of one sharp one! And the throwing potential was just wasted! It was _so_ much harder to trap cloth with a spork rather than a fork. 

Well, as the American saying goes, _beggars can't be choosers_. She threw a spork in a random direction, the sound distracting everyone while she threw sporks at two of the men, hitting directly into their eye. She felt a bit bad when they screamed in pain, but it was harder to hit your target with one eye. At least she hadn't thrown a fork, that would have gone deeper. 

She threw a spork at one of the traitors while everyone was distracted by the scream, slicing their cheek. A message that they couldn't take her by surprise. Marinette would have done far more damage but it would be suspicious to attack what looked like random bystanders. She saw them back off and turned back to the men, pretending to slip to hide that she threw a spork at one of their guns. The force caused them to miss Gordon by inches. 

Marinette watched as Brown, Kory, and Gordon took them down, their technique sloppy to avoid suspicion. She occasionally threw a spork at a hand, causing them to drop their gun in pain. It was a short fight, leaving the men a whimpering mess. She subtly knocked over the spork container, hoping to hide the ones she had weaponized with them. Hopefully, if anyone noticed the wounds the men held, they would chalk it up to them falling on a random spork rather than someone throwing it at them. 

The older Waffle members had taken a few hits, distracted by their concern for her. Maybe this would work! 

(It did not work but Barbara knew she was the daughter of Batman so she wasn't that shocked) 

* * *

~Scenecutout/blooper~

Marinette ran at a leisure pace, well aware of the traitors following her. One of them, the one she had _personally_ warned, stood out more than the others, following sloppily in their anger. She turned a corner and took out a trench coat and fake glasses with a fake nose and moustache connected to it, all from Bro- Stephanie. She had bought them for her after their little altercation, stating that she could use them to hide if people went after her to test her fighting skill. It had been a joke, Marinette was sure of it, but she couldn't help but wonder if anyone would _really_ fall for it. 

So she quickly put them on and hid her hair under a matching hat. She sat on a bench, sitting casually on it as if she were resting. 

The traitors turned the corner and walked in her direction. She tried not to stiffen, pretending not to notice them as they got closer and closer... this wasn't going to work, was it? 

....It worked. They passed and she had to cover her mouth as she shook with laughter. They just continued to walk, unaware that they had passed her target. It was _very_ easy to defeat these particular traitors. 

...Marinette ended up following Damian in the outfit. The amusement of what she was doing was worth the newspaper that had a picture of her, questioning her appearance: "mysterious moustache vigilante or new trench coat villain?" 

It had definitely been worth it when Damian spotted her but didn't recognize who it was. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you have a hard time imagine what tiny children look like because your ten-year-old brother was bigger than average and is taller than you at age 11. 
> 
> Hey did you guys know that without the hair follicle you can't do a full DNA search? You need like the hair root or smt 
> 
> Thanks to loney_reader for the trench coat disguise idea and Akuten (nice picture btw) for the sporks idea!


	14. Give Marinette a Raise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette does not get paid enough for the crap she deals with 
> 
> ATTENTION READERS! THERE ARE MENTIONS OF SUICIDE (not graphic) TOWARDS THE END. YOU WILL SEE GIANT LETTERS IN BOLD TO NOTIFY YOU OF WHEN IT WILL SHOW UP. PLEASE DO NOT READ IT IF THIS TYPE OF STUFF TRIGGERS YOU.

Marinette had a plan. A plan that'd caused several near-lapses of childish behaviour but a plan nonetheless (she'd learned to stop herself after the first time Alfred gave her the unimpressed eyebrow raise). 

**Step 1: Take the Joker from the equation**

Gord- _Barbara_ had given her crucial information in her rant, Todd would never forgive Master Bruce with the Joker still in the picture. So, out of the picture, he'd go. She was tempted to kill him or lock him in an isolated building far far away, but well... she didn't really feel like having Master Bruce freak out on her. And making the Joker disappear would _definitely_ do that. So she'd have to do it the legal way. The very _slow_ legal way. Well... kind of legal. She managed to convince a prison on the other side of the country to hold him in his own separate building... with the help of a few million of course. She hired the best psychiatrists for him and his guards and when she found out about Harley Quinn, she hired psychiatrists for _those_ psychiatrists. It took weeks of convincing but anything can be done with enough reputation, money, and praise. They weren't particularly fun weeks though, and she could only be thankful that she was talented in forgery (and that Alfred helped). 

The Joker wasn't worth this effort, but if this was what needed to happen for Master Bruce to keep going, she'd allow him this. The result was still the same, the Joker was gone. 

She'd be afraid of the mayhem Harley Quinn may have caused if it wasn't for her recent break-up. 

**Step 2: Get Todd and Master Bruce to apologize to each other** (was she the adult now? Because things would be _much_ easier if she had the title of adult whilst Todd and Master Bruce the title of the child.)

This one required... a different kind of help. 

"So... what you're saying is that you want me to help you trap Jason and Bruce in a box together?" Grayson asked, staring at her strangely. Marinette could only nod and hope that he agrees. "...count me in that sounds a m a z i n g". She ignored his mutterings about how proud Barabra would be. He really _did_ act like a simpleton. 

The original plan had been to drug Master Bruce's food but one stern look from Alfred had thrown that plan out the window. Apparently, the result was not worth losing his trust in Alfred's food. Marinette was tempted to do it anyways but the man had enough unhealthy habits as it is. He did _not_ need avoidance of food within his own home to be another one. That was just more work she wasn't ready to deal with. 

The next plan was to have Grayson inject Master Bruce with a strong tranquillizer but _that_ plan failed because her Father was able to read whenever Grayson acted suspiciously. A Batman on alert was not one that could be easily injected. 

...The last plan was to hit him on patrol by using his protective instincts against him. According to Grayson, he'd never let Nightwing get hit if he could help it. Afterwards, Grayson would meet Todd on his patrol route and "wing it" (Marinette would either find a way to shoot him or she'd force herself to fight him with Nightwing). 

**Step 3: Satisfy Damian**

An insecure, jealous Damian was a problematic Damian. And introducing a new competitor for his Father's love when he already had two was not going to end well. So, she'd just have to find something else for him to love so he'd focus less intensely on Master Bruce. Marinette remembered all the animals that Damian had asked her to hide over the years. Those had never ended well, Talia somehow always found out. Now, however, there was no Talia to stop Damian from acquiring a pet. 

"You want me to get Damian a pet?" It was simple logic really, to have Grayson gift him the animal. It would kill two birds with one stone, Damian gets a pet _and_ warms up to Grayson, who had already been pestering him relentlessly in hopes of bonding with him. "...is there one that he prefers?"

Not really, Damian seemed to love any animal. But it would be easier to distract him with a pet that demanded his attention. 

"A dog would do nicely, preferably one that can be taught complex commands." Yes, Damian would _love_ a dog he could train. 

**Step 4: Apparently learn to knit with Alfred?**

Knitting had _not_ been part of her very busy schedule but Alfred wasn't one you could say no to. 

"You've been exceptionally interested in Master Jason these past few weeks" Alfred mentioned as he placed several rolls of yarn and a basket-full of knitting needles onto a nearby table. Marinette froze when she heard his name, the sudden mention catching her off-guard. "I'm aware of your efforts to mend the relationship between Master Bruce and Master Jason. Perhaps you'd like to make Master Jason a gift to show that he is welcome?" 

Her mind turned with disgust at the mere thought of doing _anything_ for Todd. She threw those thoughts away. She wasn't doing it for _Todd_ , she was doing it for _Damian_ who needed strong protectors if she died. She was doing it for _Alfred_ who held that hopeful look in his eyes when he offered to teach her how to knit ~~something for Todd.~~

So she knitted. She spent hours learning to knit so she could make a satisfactory black sweater decorated with red bat symbols and a red helmet on each sleeve. A part of her died knowing that her first piece would go to Todd. Would it be better if he appreciated it or better if he didn't? 

It didn't matter though. What mattered was Alfred's smile that she had made something for his beloved grandson. A part of Marinette wanted to scream that she was his too. 

Was it selfish to wish for someone to choose her? 

* * *

**OKAY, BIG NOTICE RIGHT HERE I MENTION SUICIDE SO IF YOU GET TRIGGERED BY THAT SORT OF THING PLEASE DO NOT READ IT.**

Marinette traced her scars. They decorated her body in various sizes and colour, some of them visible and others gone from the continuous usage of the pits. She'd never really thought about how others saw them until she came here. 

The ones on her face were mostly light and thin, only a single scar stood out on her pale skin. That one had been Damian's work, the knife had been too big and she too slow after several hours of punishment. She didn't mind it though, as it was one of the few times she'd seen Damian look guilty for his actions, even if it only showed for a second. 

The ones on her arms were more noticeable, years of using them as her last defence had carved numerous injuries into her skin. Marinette had never thought of how they looked until she'd seen the faces the Waffle Gang had made when she came out the dressing room without long-sleeves. They had tried to hide it but the shock and anger were there. 

She traced invisible scars on her wrists, her neck, her heart. The places littered with invisible scars that held her shame. The times she couldn't keep going. The times the pain had overridden her vow to live for Damian. 

Marinette shuddered as she suppressed memories with Todd in them, memories where she had been at her worst. She would never forgive him for what he took away from her. Never. 

* * *

Alfred had not raised the World's Greatest Detective from nothing. He _high suspected_ there was something wrong that involved Marinette and Jason. The way she froze up or flinched at his mention, or tried to hide under the guise of disinterest while she clenched her fists and looked away spoke _volumes._

...But Alfred couldn't bring himself to confirm what was obvious. For if he did, could he really accept such a thing when Marinette's suffering was the price? So he avoided it. He remained in denial, choosing to love both Jason and Marinette. Choosing to believe that as his loved ones, they'd get along. That Jason was innocent, was good (and in the process denying Marinette's pain). Because for all of Alfred's wisdom, he was still a man that loved his grandson. He mentally apologized to Marinette, begging that she'd forgive him for this. He couldn't choose her over Jason. 

Love and denial are powerful things 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Marinette's childish behaviour is stomping her feet or huffing in annoyance randomly. 
> 
> What up y'all I'm back! Okay, I wasn't really gone that long but I was long for me... kind of. Random note, I saw a few episodes of Batwoman and... well...I like the hair? And the gay. And her step-sister (most of the time). And the fact that her personality and aura is really similar to Batman. Idk I think it had a lot of potential but the storyline with her twin sister kind of kills it. And their need to add characters that connect to Batman, even if it doesn't make sense (I'm sorry but it's weird that Alfred's daughter looks anywhere close to Kate's age and that Alfred has a daughter to begin with (even if she is in the comics)). 
> 
> *Note: I feel like what Marinette did is accurate for what she was going through. If she's in this much pain and gets the option to stop it, I feel like there would be a point where she'd take it. Keep in mind that death means a little less to her at times since she can always be revived. If you don't want to include what Marinette did to herself as canon for this story, you don't have to. If you feel that her devotion to Damian overcomes everything else then that can be your canon. It doesn't really affect the story if you choose to skip over that part.


	15. Goddamnit Bruce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU CELESTIAL_RUINED_MY_LIFE FOR THE GOOD AS FUCK MEMES (which can't be loaded into this chapter for some reason), ACCURATE ARABIC NAMES AND THE QUALITY EDITING 
> 
> Lmao Bruce got Thanosed and Marinette is in for a rollercoaster my dudes

Master Bruce was dead.

Marinette was tempted to give up on life at age 10 because _clearly,_ the universe hated her. 

* * *

It started with Batman going on a random mission, which had already caused her to lose hair at the rate of a stressed sixty-year-old because _how was she going to get him in The Box™ if he was in s p a c e?_

Then he had to fricking _die_ on said mission. What was she going to do with that?! She couldn't even bring herself to be sad about his death after all the work he'd wasted. She had _just_ finished making The Box _™_ escape-proof. _And,_ she had added some videos that would not only point the blame on Grayson, but also imply that the only way to escape was to express their true feelings to each other. It was a simple plan that, with enough time, would have worked. But now it _wouldn't_ work because Jason can't express his feelings to a pile of _ashes._

Well, he could, but he wouldn't get the closure he needed from Master Bruce. And damn it if that closure wasn't needed to form a better alliance between Todd and the blood child of his former mentor/self-proclaimed enemy. 

Marinette was tempted to perform blunt force trauma on herself - perhaps she'd mercifully lose her memory of the past month. Instead, she threw Todd's stupid sweater at the wall. It hit with an unsatisfying thump, and she glared at it for its audacity. Could it not see that its current duty was to give her a pleasing noise? She threw it again. It hit the wall with a quiet _thwack_ , doing nothing to express her current emotional state. She was tempted to tear it to pieces but that would have been a waste of time and material.

Marinette forced herself to slow down her breathing and inhale deeply. Losing control wouldn't do anything for her. 

She hated that no matter how controlled her breathing became, she couldn't completely stop the anger that lingered. Her hands shook, a physical sign of her mental state. It was distressing to be this vulnerable with no way to control it. It felt _surreal_ to be _this_ angry after years of conditioned indifference.

 _Think positively_ . Her plan wasn't _completely_ ruined. Todd could still be a protector if she tried hard enough. Grayson was a good replacement for Master Bruce, and he was _much_ more patient with Damian that Batman was. Damian needed praise, and Grayson was quick to give it. Drake... well, she didn't know how to fit Drake into her plans. But she'd do so, Drake was too useful to ignore. 

Marinette focused hard on her concern for Damian. She ignored her anger, her pain, her hurt until her hands stopped shaking. Damian was hurt - he'd just lost his Father right after his Mother had possibly abandoned him for good. A father that had bordered on neglectful, no matter how hard Damian had tried to gain his attention. How painful must it be to lose someone so important, without having had the chance to know them at all? (Marinette ignored that she shared this pain with him. She'd made her choices - she’d known the consequences long before Master Bruce had died.)

Damian would lash out at someone. He _needed_ a target for his pain. Marinette could be that target - better her than someone he could lose from his outburst.

* * *

Marinette stood in surprise at the bottom of the stairs, watching as Grayson quietly comforted Damian in the living room. Damian himself looked like he was on the edge of tears, despite his best efforts to appear otherwise. Drake sat nearby, a blank look on his face.

She didn't know what to do. Marinette had never been in a situation where she wasn't helping Damian. She chose to sneak around him. Perhaps it'd be better if Drake wasn't there to witness his vulnerability. 

She went by unnoticed until Drake stood up, the noise of the scraping chair breaking through the silence. Marinette froze as Damian glared at her. Oh, joy, she just _loved_ getting glared at. 

She repeated to herself that she wanted this, that she was prepared for whatever Damian had to throw at her.

Any thought of preparation died the moment Todd burst into the room.

"Is it true?!" He yelled, his eyes darting around wildly as if he expected Master Bruce to pop out in front of him. **[1]** The anger in his voice made her shy away, which, of course, just brought his attention to her. 

" _You_ ," he growled, and she wasn't sure if that meant he recognized her from the League or not. " _You_ said you weren't part of Batman's little group of replacements. You _lied_ to me!" 

… Well, not really. She’d said she wasn't _a_ vigilante, not that she didn't _live_ with vigilantes. 

She could feel Drake hiding behind her, obviously just as wary of a hostile Todd as she was. She waited for him to attack her, or even just shove her in anger. Instead, he fiercely snarled, "That doesn't matter right now," and turned away from her to stare at Grayson. "So, is it true that the old man kicked the bucket?"

Grayson could only nod in confirmation. Todd looked halfway between laughing and crying. "How'd he go?" Grayson opened his mouth to respond but Damian had reached his limit. 

"Tt. My ser - _Khadima_ can tell you." He pushed her forward. "Consider this your punishment for your past insolence," he whispered venomously. Damian marched out of the room, and Grayson hesitantly followed. Drake used the distraction to depart as well, leaving Todd and Marinette alone. She considered committing an act of blasphemy - cursing out Damian. Unfortunately, she had accumulated enough profanity to do so.

It was very hard for her to convince herself that Damian didn't know what Todd had done to her, that he only knew she didn't like him. Marinette wanted to laugh at that thought. “Dislike” was not strong enough for how she felt. “Dislike” did not describe how she was feeling with Todd standing in front of her. _Bastard_.

Maybe she'd try Damian's method of punching out her emotions one day. 

* * *

There was a beat of silence as Todd and Marinette stared at each other. She knew that Todd wanted an answer to something, but it was hard to remember what when his stare made her mind scream _danger!_

"Master Bruce was shot by a death ray while on a mission with the Justice League. The ray immediately disintegrated his body, leaving no trace of him behind." She watched as Todd's eyes grew wet, while his fists clenched in a mixture of anger and pain. It would be polite to look away, but Marinette was too fascinated by this version of Todd to follow proper social procedure. In all the time she’d spent with him, Marinette had never seen him look so… _vulnerable._ She didn’t feel the pleasure she’d expected.

"He's gone. He's actually gone," Todd muttered to himself in shock. "But I never got to -," he cut himself off as his voice hitched, just standing there as if he could deny his feelings if he never moved.

Alfred walked in. "Master Jason?" He uttered in surprise. His words were enough to snap Todd out of it, his body jerking backwards at the noise. His eyes took on a wild look, as though he felt trapped despite the size of the room. Marinette just barely dodged him as he sprinted out of the manor. 

Alfred stared at the door longingly, and she suddenly noticed that he held two things in his arms. The sweater that she had made for Todd and a file. 

God fricking damn it. Marinette yearned to just go back to her room but... she had a future bodyguard to catch. She ran after Todd, grabbing the items along the way. 

He ran quickly in his grief, and she would have assumed he was blindly wandering if not for the turns he took. She struggled to follow, the size difference between them allowed Todd to push himself further than she could. Still, she continued to run, following him as the sky darkened and the temperature lowered. 

* * *

Marinette was half-tempted to put on the sweater by the time Todd stopped. A blouse and skirt were not the ideal clothes for rooftop running to begin with, but the freezing temperature just made it harder. She had faced worse conditions than this, but that didn't alleviate her discomfort. 

She continued to follow him as he entered a slightly run-down building, a far cry from the manor they had come from. She did not attempt to hide her presence. There was no point in doing so - it'd just agitate him further. 

She barely took in her surroundings as she watched Todd collapse on a brown couch and rest an arm against his face. "So, are you gonna tell me why ya lied to me, Replace -," Todd paused and let out a dark chuckle. "I guess I can't call you Replacement now that that position’s been eradicated.”

"Hmm... what should I call you, then?" He mused. "Liar? I could keep Replacement for my first replacement and then... Deceiver, for you? 

"It was not my intention to lie to you," Marinette stated. 

"Oh yeah? Then why never say that you knew Batman when I mentioned him? You'd think you'd say something when you _live_ with him."

"...I just wanted to know you better," she lied, "I heard that you didn't like Batman so I chose not to mention him.”

She forced herself not to tremble as he frowned at her. "That's not right. I _saw_ your fear that night. It was genuine." He narrowed his eyes at her, stalking forward so his large frame towered over hers. "You're _lying_ to me again." Marinette forced herself to breathe. This - this approach wasn't going to work. The memories were already coming back and she couldn't afford to have pain cause any mistakes.

 _Pretend_ , a voice whispered. Yes, she could pretend. Pretend that this person growling at her, looming over her, wasn't the man who tortured her. She stared at him and made his eyes a lighter blue, larger, and rounder. Although _her_ hair had been dyed black, Marinette changed his hair to look blonde anyways, the same shade as Stephanie's hair. She made him shorter, with a slimmer body, decorated with a few bright pink accessories. _Mudamira_ , she thought. _Pretend that he’s Mudamira when you first found her, defensive after the slaughter of her family_.

Marinette felt her body lose some of its tension. She changed her stance to non-threatening and softened her eyes. _Act like you did when you saw that girl,_ she urged herself. _Act passive, act meek._ Act _open._

"I-I'm not lying!" She made herself shift uncomfortably. "I _was_ afraid when I saw you. I heard what you did to the other Robin and I was afraid you'd do the same to me." 

Todd Mudamira glared at her. Defensive. Rightly unwilling to trust. She could do this. She could win ~~his~~ her trust. "Then why seek me out if ya know what happened to the Replacement?" 

"Gray - _Dick_ spoke about you a few times and Master Bruce had - " 

"DON'T TALK ABOUT BRUCE!" Todd roared, his _far_ deeper and angrier voice shattering the image of Mudamira completely. She flinched _hard_ , and she couldn't stop the fear nor the adrenalin that flooded her veins. It had been stupid to mention Master Bruce, but she had been unsure how to comfort him otherwise.

Todd paused, and she curled into herself, ashamed he’d noticed her reaction. The anger drained from his stance, and he quickly stepped back, his eyes trained on her. Confusion flickered across his face, followed by something foreign. 

"... I'm sorry. Just... don't talk about Bruce right now." His voice was noticeably quieter. He sounded more sad than aggressive.

"... Alfred misses you," Marinette spat out, unable to stay lax, as she had before. 

Todd let out a melancholy chuckle. "Good ol' Alfred. I miss him too." 

"You could join us. Alfred misses having you in the kitchen."

Todd shook his head. "I _can't_. I'm not part of that group anymore. They've let too many things go that should have ended." 

"... you mean, like the Joker?" Todd’s head shot up, and she could see his want to glare at her. Why was he refraining from doing so?

" _Yes._ The _Joker._ They basically let him go free every time they lock him up in Arkham Asylum! They put him in there only for him to break out and kill more people in a never-ending cycl -" 

"The Joker no longer resides in Arkham Asylum." 

Todd frowned. "He escaped? I haven't heard anything from him recently -" 

"No. The Joker is no longer in Gotham." 

"... What? What does that _mean_?" 

"He has been placed in a secure jail, far on the other side of the U.S. Millions of dollars have gone into placing him in an isolated fortress." 

"... How do I know you're telling me the truth?" 

Marinette took out the file she'd hidden inside the sweater. Todd let out a disbelieving laugh as he skimmed the contents inside. All of it was detailed information on what happened to the Joker.

"The Joker is gone. He has no allies to help him escape, no psychiatrist that will go insane without notice, no way to break out. He's never coming back." Marinette informed him as he continued to stare at the files.

"He's gone. He's really gone," Todd muttered to himself. 

"Despite what's happened in the past, you're welcome to join us. It will take some time to adjust, but an extra member would be appreciated." 

She gave him the sweater.

"Bruce loved you, he really did.” She paused, careful of what to say. “I know you don't want to hear it but you _need_ to know. You were never forgotten or hated - there are too many pictures of you in the manor for that. He stared at them constantly, as if reminding himself of you." 

"If he loved me so much, why didn't he _avenge_ me?" Marinette looked into Todd's eyes. She hated how lost he looked.

"... you were a Robin, once. A Robin that learned to value life, no matter whose it was. Would a murder in the name of vengeance really avenge someone who didn't want it?" She thought of love. She thought of her willingness to do anything for Damian. Vengeance, for her, would be to kill Todd. Instead, she chose to help him, so that Damian would be safer. Everything she had ever _done_ had been for Damian. What would she do if he died? Was there any life for her without him? "Batman avenged you the best way he could, by staying as the Batman you loved. He sacrificed his need for vengeance to do so. That, itself, proves far more than the Joker's death would." 

Todd opened his mouth, possibly to argue, but Marinette was _done_ . She'd tried her best to convince him, and she was _tired_. "It doesn't matter whether you disagree. Batman is dead. However, the people he loved live on, and that includes you. The easiest way to keep everyone alive would be to stay together. I advise you to think about it." She walked out, leaving Todd to think as he held a file and a new sweater.

She had things to do.

* * *

*Cutscene* 

"Do you have the pet prepared?" Marinette asked Grayson. He gave her a sheepish grin. 

"About that..." No. There was _no_ way he had messed up this very simple task. She refused to believe a product of her Father's training would be _this_ incompetent. 

"Yes?" she asked with strained patience. He had the audacity to pull out a _monstrosity._ "... what is _that_?" 

"It's a stuffed animal!" Grayson said cheerfully. She was _this_ close to _killing_ him with said stuffed animal. 

"I _know_ what it _is_ ,” she hissed. “I just want to know what drove you to make this… _questionable_ decision."

"Look, Damian seems like a nice kid but I don't trust him with a live animal. What if he gets annoyed and kills it?! I don't want an animal's death on my hands!" 

"...I would not have requested an animal if Damian was to slaughter it." Grayson paused, as if looking for another excuse. 

"... He was being annoying." Marinette wondered if “annoying” was typically his description for people trying to murder him and his "brother".

"So you're going to agitate him further."

"... What child doesn't like toys?" She just stared at him. Maybe if she stared hard enough he'd realize the stupidity of his sentence without any effort on her part. ...Staring seemed to achieve the opposite of what she’d hoped.

"Well, I'm going to give it to him!! I bet he'll secretly love it!" … Damian was going to _kill_ him. At least that saved her the effort of doing it herself. 

"... How about _I_ give it to him instead?” She was going to burn that thing until only ashes remain ~~just like Master Bruce~~. 

“No!” He held it out of her grabbing distance as if that could stop her. “I _know_ you’re not gonna give it to him. And if you do, I won’t get to see his _reaction_!”

… Marinette had _concerns_ . Did he have a death wish? Did she just give Damian a bodyguard that wished to die? Had she misjudged him _that_ terribly? Did - 

She was snapped out of her mental tirade when Grayson pulled something else out of his bag. “I got something for you, too!” It was a stuffed koala. She held it silently, fascinated. The fur was so soft! She was tempted to rub her cheek on it. 

“It’s perfect for hugging,” Grayson explained. Marinette barely noticed as he started to walk away. _Shit!_ She mentally exclaimed. Now she _definitely_ couldn’t let him give Damian that stuffed animal! 

She clutched her koala bear as she chased after him. Should she give it a name? 

* * *

~Blooper~ 

SMACK THE BATS TIME HELL YEAH **[2]**

Marinette stared at Grayson. Stared as he held up that cursed toy with a stupid grin on his face. This was it. She was done. All she’d asked him to do was one simple thing and he couldn’t even achieve _that._ She sister snapped. "WHY DID YOU GET HIM A STUFFED DOG, DUMBASS!?" She screamed as she slapped Grayson in the face. "I JUST THOUGHT HE'D LIKE IT!" He replied, screaming as well. "FUCK THIS FAMILY" she screamed even louder. Fuck it, she was out. There was no way she could sew a family back together if they were all made of goddamn idiots. She dramatically walked out the door as the sun set, leaving Grayson with a stuffed dog and a very short future. 

* * *

~Blooper 2~ 

Smack the Bats Part 2 

She stared at the monstrosity in front of her. "Alfred," she whispered. "Get the toast." Alfred magically appeared next to her a few seconds later, holding two pieces of toast. Marinette grabbed them, smacking Grayson with each one before holding them to his head. "What are you!?" She asked angrily, almost on the verge of shouting. "A simp sandwich :(" Grayson replied, looking ashamed. Finally some good fucking acceptance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Please help me I imagined Bruce dressed as a yellow daisy with a wide grin
> 
> [2] @Bisha_blackcat I told you I'd steal it 
> 
> Blooper 1 is supposed to be Batman slapping Robin meme. The second Blooper is the "I'm an idiot sandwich" meme. Rip the beautiful memes that couldn't be loaded onto this chapter for no apparent reason. 
> 
> Bonus points if you can guess who Mudamira will be (hint she's a future Miraculous character) 
> 
> Thank you so much for the comments! I love every single one of them :D
> 
> I decided to change Marinette's original name to Khadima, as it means maidservant in Arabic. I feel like it would be more accurate than Serva (lmao which was totally a quality name 10/10)


	16. No tears left to cry (or no tears to begin with)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette doesn't get a break

The next few days were spent in silence. Everyone was in their own world, mourning Father and preparing for the funeral. Damian was the only one who made any noise, and that was only out of misguided anger as he pushed himself to train for hours. Much of her time was spent preventing any harm they may do to themselves in their grief. Stop Damian before he trained himself to death, help Grayson with the funeral work, force Drake to sleep. Drake had taken over Wayne Tech and had spent hours doing all the missed work, even going so far as to improve the company. He was killing himself in the process. Marinette had resorted to using the "Sleep" procedure, which trapped Drake in his room without any working technology. It had been difficult as he had created his own tech that'd work during the shut-down but she managed to steal it away from him. It helped that he was still injured (and that she may have switched out a few ingredients in his coffee). 

Usually, it would be Alfred that did all of this. That kept the entire family together as they rode through tragedy after tragedy. But this was not something even Alfred could ignore by working. Master Bruce's death seemed to have aged him by decades. He did some of the chores but only through sheer force of will. That will was dying quickly. She didn't mind doing more, what hurt her the most was that dead look in his eyes. She'd rather he stayed in his room and sort out his grief than shuffle around like a shell of himself, his torment only increasing the more he ignored it.

But what could she do other than take the work he couldn't? She _hated_ feeling this useless. She hated knowing all her hard work wasn't enough. 

* * *

"I made you some pancakes," Marinette said, holding out a plate to Alfred. An attempt to cheer him up. 

"...thank you Marinette," Alfred replied after a moment. His gaze never left the pancakes as he slowly ate them. Alfred never looked at her face anymore. It was the eyes, she knew. The eyes that looked like her Father's. 

Marinette had the irrational temptation to cut her eyes out. Maybe then he would look at her. She knew there were smarter methods, but the solution matched the desperation she felt the longer he avoided her. 

She allowed Alfred his privacy when she realized there were water drops on his plate. 

* * *

The funeral was a quiet one. Well, as quiet as it can be for the funeral of a hero. Quiet out of respect for the man who lived in the shadows, the silence, the night. She saw many tears that day. She kept track of those that seemed closest to Master Bruce. They could be useful in the future. 

Superman and Wonderwoman. Perhaps Martian Manhunter, he seemed to have great respect for Batman. 

No child of the Bat cried that day, adopted or biological (that does include the Wafflecrew, they're mentally adopted). Some had no tears left to cry. Others couldn't have cried in the first place. 

There was no body to bury but everyone paid respects to his ashes, placed in an elegant black urn. When everyone was gone, the Waynes would bury her Father next to his parents. Marinette pretended to believe that there was some good to this. He'd get to see his parents again. 

Todd was there when they buried him, just watching from afar. She tried to ignore him and let her final moments with her Father be only thoughts of him. She failed as he moved closer, as quiet as a panther stalking its prey. 

They stood there in silence for an unknown period of time. Damian tried to look strong, but his acceptance of Grayson's tight hug around him proved otherwise. She held out her hand. He took it and squeezed it tight. For a moment, they weren't Master and servant. They were equals. Two children mourning the loss of their father, even if only one knew they shared the same loss. 

* * *

The funeral seemed to snap everyone out of their depression. They were still hurt and sad, but they were working to move on. The funeral had declared that Batman was dead. Crime had spiked in Gotham after that announcement. They needed a Batman once more. 

The day after the funeral was loud. Grayson took over as Batman and Batman needed a Robin. That Robin had not been Drake. 

Marinette walked in at the end of an argument, Drake angrily storming out with tears in his eyes. Grayson sat alone, hunched up with his hands on his face. 

She walked until she was a foot away from him, staring at him until he looked up at her. 

"Hi Mini-Alfred," he greeted tiredly. Marinette raised an eyebrow at this and he let out a depressed chuckle. "What? If you weren't like Alfred before, you certainly have been these past few days." Huh. She didn't think he'd notice. "I've had Alfred's cooking since I was nine. I can tell the difference. And there's been a _lot_ of difference in the recent meals." 

"How do you know it's not just Alfred's grief that's affecting his cooking?" She didn't think it was possible but Grayson's eyes got sadder. Maybe even a bit darker. 

"This isn't the first time he's cooked while grieving." He closed his eyes as if reliving memories. "Jason's death had affected him just as much, if not worse. The only difference was that _he_ was what kept everyone going." He turned to her. "I'm glad he has someone to support him now," before Marinette could allow herself to feel pride, Grayson continued "but it shouldn't have been you." 

She frowned at that. "Why not?" Grayson grasped her wrists. 

"Marinette, you're an incredibly capable person but you're only... what? Eight?" She bit her tongue to stop herself from childishly correcting him. Marinette doubted he'd change his mind just because she was two years older. "You _never_ should have been the support." She just stared at him blankly, Marinette couldn't imagine herself in any other role. 

"...If you tell me what you were arguing about with Master Drake it would help me." 

Grayson groaned to himself. "I've only been the one in charge for a week and I'm already messing things up," he mumbled to himself. "Look, I get that you were raised as a _servant_ ," there was a flicker of anger in his eyes "but you're more than that. You're a _child._ Children should be the ones getting supported, not looking for ways to support everyone else." 

"I can't _stop_ supporting everyone," Marinette replied, silently begging him to understand.

Grayson sighed. "Marinette, loo-" 

"My name is Khadima." She blurted. 

"I- what?" 

"My name is Khadima. Not Marinette. Do you know what Khadima means?" Grayson shook his head. "It means maidservant. Because that's what I _am._ I am a servant first and a child second." 

There was a flicker of rage that she could see Grayson struggle to extinguish. "Who would name a child-" 

"It doesn't matter," she said firmly, cutting him off. "What matters is that I must perform my duty. Servant first, child second." Grayson looked at her, a calculative gaze briefly appearing on his face. It didn't suit him the way his silly grin usually did. 

"...You're not gonna let this go, are you?" 

She shook her head. "I will not." 

He sighed. "Well, thank your lucky stars that I'm nowhere _near_ as stubborn as Bruce." She called bullshit, he'd been stubborn as frick about the stuffed animal. "So I'll spill the beans. It's not like you won't find out about this in a few days." He looked away from her as if hiding his shame. 

"I fired Tim." What? She didn't know family could be fired! Surely he knew too many secrets to just be _fired._ Was Grayson going to kill him? 

"I wasn't aware you could fire your siblings. How will you ensure that he keeps quiet about your identities?" Grayson looked in confusion as she slowly edged away from him, just in case he decided to attack. He was flexible, if she was within reach he could surely find a way to hurt her. 

"Wait I'm not-" Grayson sputtered, struggling to speak "I'm not going to kill him! I meant that I'm firing him from the Robin position. I _cannot_ and _would not_ fire anyone from this family." 

"So Damian will take his place?"

Grayson nodded. "He already has experience fighting as Robin. It seems only natural that he continues as my sidekick." 

"You trust him so easily?" It was stupid to question his trust in Damian, but she had to know. Besides, that easy trust could get Damian killed if Grayson decided to trust the wrong person. 

"Not really, no. But I can tell that I _will_." 

"Then why take that risk? Damian is the superior fighter, but that superiority does nothing if neither can trust the other to have their back." 

"I... I can't have Tim as my Robin. Batman and Robin only work when Batman has something to teach Robin. I have _nothing_ to teach Tim. Anything he lacks he can only learn through experience, not my guidance." 

"You think you have something to teach Damian?" 

A fond smile grew on his face. Which was good, because it was Damian. But it was also weird because it was _Damian._ "He's a good fighter, I'll give him that. But he's got a long way to go if he wants to become Batman one day." Marinette never understood _why_ Damian wanted to be Batman. She didn't think he understood what Batman stood for. After all, an Al Ghul does not dedicate their lives to protecting the innocent. They are the ones innocents need protection from. Perhaps it was the promise of something that was his by blood. 

It didn't matter what the reasoning was, she could see that Grayson was determined to train Damian and she was happier for it. It still raised issues with Drake though... 

"Are you aware of why Master Drake is upset?"

Grayson frowned. "Not really. It's not like I told him to stop vigilanting. I thought he'd be eager to make his own name like I was. I even had a whole name planned out and everything!" She hoped that "everything" didn't include an outfit made by him. She could _not_ have a Nightwing disco suit 2.0. 

"...what name were you going to give Master Drake?" 

"...Drake." Was he trying to keep Drake's identity a secret or not?! 

"What! It's a bird! It fits the bird theme! Nightwing, Drake, Robin! We just need to convert Jason and we'll be the bird brothers!" Just...kill her. _What._

"But you won't be Nightwing because you'll be Batman." 

"Ooh... yeah... do you think Tim will take over my mantle as Nightwing?" 

"Considering how angry he was when he walked out, I'm going to assume the answer is no." 

"Aw! But I just got a new costume design! It's going to go to waste! And the nameeee-" she left him as he continued to lament about the waste of his persona. If she couldn't get answers from Grayson, she'd get answers from Drake. 

* * *

Drake was in a pitiful state, she could tell that much from a quick glance. He was hunched over at his desk, face so close to the screen she questioned whether he needed glasses. This didn't stop her from noticing how red his eyes were. Like with Grayson, she stood in front of him until he acknowledged her. 

It took a few minutes but she was nothing if not patient. 

"What do you want?" He asked angrily, eyes still focused on his computer. 

"I want to know why you're upset," she replied calmly. After Todd, there was no one that could intimidate her. 

Drake scoffed, "why do you care? You're just Damian's servant, shouldn't you be fussing over him or something?" 

" _Clearly_ you've forgotten the past few days if you're asking that." 

He frowned, "I haven't forgiven you for that either. You have no place in telling me what to do. I'm not a _kid,_ in fact, I'm _older_ than you." 

" _Someone_ had to do something about your sleeping schedule before you ended up killing yourself. If that someone is me, so be it."

"How am I going to remain useful if I can't even work for that long!?" Drake snapped. 

Marinette just looked at him. "Why do you assume you're useless?" 

Drake froze. "Why else would Dick fire me?" He asked, his voice nearly breaking. "Why would he _fire_ me unless he didn't think I was enough?" He looked vulnerable, the insecurity muting his knowledge about his own capabilities. Marinette inwardly sighed; she understood the need to be vulnerable at times but it was so tiring to deal with. She didn't feel worthy of this level of trust, no matter if that had been her goal, to begin with.

"Batman and Robin are not equals, yes? Perhaps he cannot see you as a Robin because you're equal to him." She wondered why he was placing any trust in her to begin with. They weren't that close. Was it her youth or her strong association with Alfred? 

Drake jumped up and started pacing. "No, that can't be it. That doesn't make sense! Damian-," his voice caught as he started to tremble "Damian _beat_ me in a fight. Now he's the new Robin. If he's got something to teach Damian, that means there are things I need to learn. _"_ Well... Marinette couldn't really dispute this. She didn't really know why Grayson had deemed Drake an equal, even if she had her own theories. Grayson had said that there was nothing to teach him but she had yet to observe Drake's fighting style other than quick glances, so she couldn't really agree or disagree with him. 

"..." She just stayed quiet as she let him go through wave after wave of grief. Sometimes, having someone there rather than suffering alone was enough. She barely noticed as Drake focused on the ripped Robin insignia next to him, holding it so hard that his knuckles turned white. 

"It's not _fair,"_ Drake suddenly raged "I worked countless _hours_ day after day to get the title of Robin. I went through every hell Bruce put me through and _still_ refused to give up. And now out of nowhere this kid just-" he hit the wall next to him, leaving a small mark. Marinette told herself it was the pain talking. After all, he _was_ going through a lot. His adopted father just died and now the one thing that might bring normalcy had been taken by the person who had hurt him. 

It didn't help that small sliver of bitterness that he dare compare his pain to theirs. He _chose_ to go through his suffering, they never had that _choice_. 

"Do you not think Master Damian worked just as hard?" She asked softly.

Drake paused in his anger to protest. "No I-," he grimaced "I _don't_ think Damian didn't do the work to deserve it. I just- I'm just so tired of seeing Damian get _everything._ He wasn't even punished for his actions." Marinette wanted to laugh. Oh, Damian had gotten _plenty_ of punishment. Just not in the traditional way. Master Bruce had ignored him for _days_ after he hurt Drake, the added shock of seeing his biological child attempt to kill his adopted one had pushed his acceptance back. And even after he had accepted, Batman was harsher on Damian than he had ever been on Drake, based on the snippets she had caught of them interacting in costume. 

"...Damian doesn't get _everything._ " 

Drake snorted. "Really? Then what's all of this? He wanted to be Robin and now he's Robin. He wanted Bruce's acceptance and he got it, even though it took me _months_ to get him to accept me. He just does whatever he wants and gets away with it." He gestured to her, "I mean, he even has his own servant!" 

"Did you really not see the way Master Bruce looked at you?" 

Anger was replaced with confusion. "...what?" 

"He looked at you and you could see that he cared. It was _hidden_ but it was there." 

He laughed. "Bruce didn't _care_ about me. He hadn't cared about a Robin since Jason died. I was just there to balance him out." 

"You're right that wasn't as strong but it was _there_. When he looked at Damian... there was nothing. He had accepted that Damian will live with him and that was it." 

"Bruce didn't-" 

She cut him off. “Do you know how it feels to give all of yourself to someone, only for them to not care? To push yourself almost to the brink of death only to see they’ll never love you?”

Drake looked at her. "Yes," he confirmed, although it was barely a whisper. 

"Then you should realize how it felt for Damian, who only saw that you received his Father's love while he did not."

"...Getting Robin was just a consolation prize for him, wasn't it?" 

"Grayson will make it more than worth it but yes, it is a consolation prize to what he truly wanted."

"Is that even the real reason Dick gave him the title?" 

"You should ask him yourself." 

* * *

POV switch ~(l v l)~ editor’s current mood ( ´•̥̥̥ω•̥̥̥` )

Dick cut his rambling off the second Marinette was out of earshot, a bit prideful that he’d managed to get a small smile on her face (he ignored that the rest of it screamed _annoyed_ ). He felt guilty for dumping his problems onto her but if he planned this right, hopefully she'd be in a better place by the time he was done. 

He thought back to how every word of hers dripped with insecurity, the way she believed she did not deserve the same benefits as a child because she was a servant. It reminded him of how Tim was at times, ignoring his health to help, only collapsing from exhaustion. It might not work but maybe... maybe they could keep each other in check. Both of them cared about others in a cold, distant way. Using complex schemes to solve the problem that involved them predicting how others would react. They were very logical, perhaps that logic could be used to fight each other's insecurities.

He hoped this would work, he wasn't sure if he could help Marinette and Damian at the same time. He didn't feel ready for this, it was all so sudden. Moving back to Gotham, becoming the new Batman, getting a new Robin.

He groaned, Kori and Babs were _not_ going to be happy with how busy he'd be. Well, they'd understand. They'd be busy as well - Babs wanted to check out the new group called "Birds of Prey" (if he could convince Tim and Jason to get bird names, they could have two bird groups!) and Kori would be busy between leading the Titans and managing her royal duties on her own planet. At this rate, they wouldn't be seeing each other for a while. 

His mind went back to Marinette. Her eyes when she told him she couldn't stop supporting others... It reminded him of Bruce. They were eerily similar, with the same determination in spite of the difficult situation. The only thing difference was what type of comfort they brought. But...Marinette couldn't be Bruce's. That would make Marinette and Damian siblings, possibly twins. That just… didn’t make sense. Grayson shook his head. Nah, they couldn’t be related, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I realized this wasn't very clear but the world only knows that Batman is dead. They do not know that Bruce died, mostly because Tim is taking over so that it looks like Bruce is still doing stuff. 
> 
> Also!! An asshole friend of mine just pointed out that there are multiple blonde girls with blue eyes in ML so um...  
> lmao now every blonde is a possible assassin (including the ones that don't have blue eyes at this point, we kind of went a little crazy)


	17. Part One of a Day Full of Arguments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce is maybe alive and everyone is screaming

So it turns out Master Bruce might be alive. Maybe. Marinette didn't really know. She just wanted to lie down and sleep forever. 

* * *

~Cut back to a few hours ago~ 

Drake had locked himself in his room for three days. Nothing could get him to leave other than physical force, not that anyone tried. Well, Marinette had tried but Alfred had stopped her. He wanted Drake to mourn in his own way. She felt like that was a load of bullshit because no one mourns by staying busy. He was just avoiding his pain. Not that she could judge, she was doing the same. 

They took turns bringing him food. Marinette gave herself an imaginary victory point since he actually _ate_ the food she brought. It was kind of hard not to when she snuck into his room and forcefully shoved food in his face until he ate it. Drake probably hated her. The price of saving useful people with _terrible_ coping mechanisms. Didn’t he know that malnourishment delayed the healing time? 

She was _this_ close to just tranquilizing him so he would sleep. 

For three days no one else bothered Drake. Grayson wanted to give him time before he talked to him and well, the other option was Damian. 

Apparently, three days was considered enough time to calm down. 

Marinette watched as Grayson stood nervously in front of Drake's door. His hand had been raised to knock for the past ten minutes. His hand almost hit the door when Drake stepped out. 

"Bruce is alive," Drake said. He looked terrible. 

“I...what?” 

“Batman is still _alive._ He’s just... scattered throughout history.” 

Grayson stared at him, a mixture of disbelief and concern. "Tim... I think you need to get some sleep." That was fair, Drake was still in the clothes he'd had on three days ago. His hair was a mess and his eyebags were so dark they looked like someone had punched him. In other words, there was a fair chance that he was going delusional between the lack of sleep and the mental toll of Master Bruce's death. 

"No, you don't understand! I found these historical excerpts about a man in black and I think it's _Bruce_. He's not dead, he’s just bouncing around time!" 

Grayson just stared at him, pity in his posture. "Tim... Bruce is dead. Just because there have been people in black throughout history doesn't mean it's Bruce. You really need to sleep." 

"But they're not just men in black! Every single time it's _one_ man who saves other people. And he saves them with technology that doesn't exist yet. Doesn't that sound like Bruce?" 

"Babybird... are you sure you're okay?" 

Drake frantically took out a stack of papers, all with several pictures on them. Each picture had random words scribbled on them. "Look! These are some of the symbols the man in the black leaves behind. They look like the code Bruce taught me! I think Bruce is trying to communicate that he's trapped in time." 

“This doesn’t look like any code I’m familiar with.” He squinted at the paper, comparing the symbols and the translations. “It just looks like a guy who really likes describing things.” 

“It was a new code that Bruce taught me. Certain descriptive words mean different things. When you put all the descriptive words together, it makes sense. Like this symbol translates to magnificent which is “help” and impressive translates to ”stuck”. He even used the confirmation words that alert that he’s speaking in code instead of compliments.” 

A bitter smile appeared on Grayson’s face, not that Drake noticed. “Of _course_ he made a code just for you to learn. He’d have wanted to teach you a code complex enough for your intellect.” He read through the translations. “I’m sorry Tim, this just looks like some sentences that you latched onto when in reality, they mean nothing. They aren’t even in English - this might not even be the right translation.” 

Tim held out a few other papers, manically waving at the red circles on each one. "Then look at these! It appears everywhere the man in black does! Doesn’t it look like the Bat symbol?" Marinette could not deny that there _were_ similarities between the symbol in the picture and Batman's current symbol. If you squinted, they could be matching. 

But bats weren’t something Master Bruce made up, others could have taken inspiration from it. 

Grayson had the same idea. "Timtam, just because there are bat symbols doesn't mean that it's Bruce. It could have been another man in black who used the bat to represent themself. Or maybe the symbol wasn't even supposed to be a bat, it just happened to look similar to the Bat symbol.” Grayson adjusted his position so that he was looking Drake in the eye. "Look, Tim, I get that Bruce's death is hard on you. You were the closest to him. It’s hard to accept it when we weren’t the ones to see him die. But you have to let this go and move on. Making a conspiracy like this is just going to hurt you in the end when you realize all this work changes nothing. I don’t want you to be giving yourself false hope.” 

Tim was on the verge of tears, hurt and angry. "Why won't you believe me? You praise me for being smart but then you don't even listen when I use the intelligence you praised." 

"Jesus Tim just _look_ at yourself. How can I believe you when you look like you're falling apart? All this “evidence” looks like coincidences that you’re digging too deep in.” 

“Is that why you fired me? Because you didn’t believe in me?” Tim asked, barely above a whisper. “Am I not smart enough for you? Not good enough? Not capable enough? I know Damian is the better fighter but _please_ I’m not _useless_. I know I’m not as good but _believe_ me. Just this once, believe in me.” 

“Babybird… _no._ Firing you was never about you lacking any capabilities. In fact, I fired you because you were overqualified for the job.” 

“That’s _bullshit_ that doesn’t even make _sense._ Damian beat me in a fight, if anything _he’s_ the overqualified one.” 

“Tim…Robins aren’t always about fighting. They’re sidekicks, not bad heroes. Being Robin is about learning something, which means their Batmans need to be able to teach them something. I don’t have anything I can teach you.” 

“But… you’re a much better fighter than I am.” 

“Yeah, and you’re a better detective than I am. You’re better at solving crimes and playing strategy. That can get you further than any fighting can do sometimes.” 

“That still doesn’t explain why you can’t teach me how to fight.” 

“Tim, you’re the least flexible Robin out of the four of us. My flight style relies on my flexibility. I can’t teach you when our styles are so different. What you need is actual experience. Besides…   
Damian needs my help in a way that you don’t. Because you don’t need anything from me other than that push to become your own vigilante. You should be more excited! I was when I became Nightwing! We’ll be equals instead of vigilante and sidekick.” 

“...So… this was never about you questioning my abilities?” 

“Tim, I would never fire you for that unless I thought you were going to get yourself killed. And as a vigilante, that’s not you. Bruce has always told me that you were a good Robin. Clear-headed and calm in the field, quick to think of solutions and good at adapting.” There was a bit of bitterness in his tone, and Marinette could imagine the pain he felt every time he heard Master Bruce tell him this. She was sure her Father only said it because he was proud of Drake, but it just sounded like endless comparisons. She found it admirable that Grayson could comfort Drake with the same words that had sliced him. “And from what I can tell, he was 100% right. You’re very capable, Babybird. You might not be the best fighter but you make up for that in so many other ways.” 

“Then why don’t you believe me about Bruce?” 

“Because I did the same thing as you when my parents died, when Jason died. I’ve seen their dead bodies but I convinced myself otherwise. It was just so easy to believe that I saw it wrong when crazy shit happens all the time in this life. Maybe it was faked, a trick, or I was delusional. Maybe they’re actually waiting for me to realize they’re not dead so I can save them. But my parents _are_ dead. Jason… Jason is special but he _was_ dead. There was no trick, no fakeout, no delusion. He died to the Joker like Bruce died to a space gun.” 

“Isn’t it worth trying? Maybe Bruce is dead but we’ll never know until we try. We just need to dedicate some time, fly a few places to get a better understanding of Bruce’s possible situation...” 

“...No. It’s not worth it to try when I know he’s dead. I can’t fool myself and lose him twice.” 

“...How could you. How could you turn your back on Bruce when he could still be alive? How _selfish_ are you to avoid looking just because you’re afraid of getting hurt? Does it really pain you that much to just give a little time for the sake of Bruce’s _life_? ” 

Marinette could see the moment Grayson snapped. The posture change, the angry eyes, the clenched fists. It was almost beautiful to see, he seemed like a hard person to break. 

“What do you think I’ve been doing other than giving things up? I had to give up the _job_ I loved _,_ my _house,_ my _city_ , my very own title that only _I_ could choose to keep or give away. I gave up precious moments that I could be spending with Babs and Kori to take over Bruce’s responsibilities as Batman. And not just the fighting crime bit but also donning a new persona that actually has to fully teach someone. _Fuck_ Tim, Now _I’m_ the one that has to take care of Damian and teach him right from wrong. I never even _wanted_ any of this. Haven’t I given enough of myself trying to replace him?” 

“I get that filling his shoes is hard, I’m running his company after all. But these sacrifices don’t have to be made if we get Bruce back. If you could just come with m-” 

Grayson laughed humorlessly. “Come with you? Do you even know what you’re asking of me? Tim, I _can’t_ go with you even if I wanted to. Did you forget that Batman is needed here? I mean who else is going to do it? Jason?” He stepped back as if needing space between them. “Also, please don’t compare your struggles to mine. You’re running the job work while I’m playing emotional support in the most dysfunctional family in the world. Both of them have different issues but don’t pretend you know what I’m going through.” 

“....we’re going nowhere with this. You clearly won’t help me with this and we’re wasting time. Go struggle somewhere else while _I_ figure out an actual solution.” Hurt. They were both hurt and tired. She felt like they _all_ were at this point. No rest for the wicked. 

She nodded to Alfred, silently devising a strategy. She would comfort Drake while Alfred would go after Grayson. It’d be easier since she was willing to listen to him. If there was a chance Master Bruce was alive and needed saving… Marinette wasn’t sure what she should do. Going with Drake would increase their chances of success but it would also mean leaving Damian, who’d want to stay with Grayson. Could she really leave him like that?

* * *

~Blooper~

"Drake and Grayson, stop arguing!" Marinette shouted. They turned to look at her. 

"Why?!" Drake asked aggressively. 

"You're scaring the baby!" 

"What baby?" The boys asked, looking around. She pointed to Damian, who was staring wide-eyed at the two of them. The tight grip on his katana was a clear sign of his distress. 

"He's not a baby!" Grayson said at the same time Drake cried "I did not get defeated by a baby!" 

"It doesn't matter! Either take this argument somewhere else or stop yelling so loudly." 

"Oh yeah? And what are you going to do if we don't?" Drake asked, taunting her. 

"I'll put you in the Box™." 

"The... what?" Drake just looked confused but Grayson _knew_. 

"Wait, Mini-Alfie do _not_ put us in the box." 

Drake just scoffed. "Like she could force both of us into a random location without our consent." 

"Oh no," Grayson groaned. "You just had to-" he was cut off as tranquilizer hit both of them. "Dammmmittt Tiimmm," he slurred, his vision dimming until he fell unconscious. 

\-----

They woke up in a vacant mental room, with only a screen in front of them. 

Suddenly, it flickered to life. "So what were you saying about being unable to force you into a random location without your consent?" Marinette asked smugly. 

Drake glared at her. "Yeah, yeah, I was wrong. Let us out." 

"No can do! I'm sick of you guys fighting and then one of you storming out of anger before the other one is finished, causing some sort of tension due to a misunderstanding that ends up in another fight. So! You're trapped in this room until both of you get _everything_ out. No storming out unfinished, no miscommunication, no aggressive arguments that secretly affect Damian. Have fun." She turned the screen off, leaving the two to their own devices. 

Drake immediately tried to escape by breaking the screen. There wasn't much else to work with, the room was smooth metal with no obvious exit. 

"There's no point," Grayson said, watching him. 

"What do you mean? There's always a way to escape." 

"I mean there's no way to escape without dying. The only exit is a door you _do not_ want to open." 

"Why not?" 

"...Because the Box™ was meant to hold _Bruce_ and _Jason_ so they could talk it out. Which means having no way of escape _until_ they talked it out." 

"...Dick... where are we?" 

Grayson sighed. "We're in space, Timtam. And we're gonna stay in space until Marinette decides that we've done enough communicating." 

Tim slid to the ground. "I guess we better start talking then, shouldn't we?" 

They ended up talking for hours before Marinette brought them down but they were much closer. Dick still stayed while Tim left, but they both understood each other perfectly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The entire day was supposed to be one chapter but then the argument ended up being almost 2,000 words and I called it quits. Anyways, thank you to those who corrected me! If there's any other feedback or critiques you have for me on this chapter or previous ones, let me know (rip I know the first chapter could use some editing). And if you guys want to give any objects for future bloops just comment it! I'm kind of slow to do some of them but I'll get to them :D


	18. Eat it or Yeet it (A Day of Arguments Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Marinette and Tim talk (A.K.A. Marinette is having one _hell_ of a day)

Her heart raced at the idea of leaving Damian, even if it was to help him. All her life she had stayed close in case she was ever needed, to leave now went against her title as Servant. But as Damian’s servant, didn’t she have a duty to do everything she could to improve his life? Getting  her his Father back would fall into that category. 

Marinette cleared her thoughts with a shake of the head and a deep breath. All of this could wait until she was more informed of the situation. And for that to happen, she needed Drake to  _ eat _ . Ideally, sleep would be included but Marinette  _ really _ wasn’t in the mood to wait another day or two, much less force that situation onto herself. So food would have to be enough care for now. The last thing she needed was for him to faint on her. 

Her mind filled with thoughts of what to make him eat. It’d have to be something quick and easy, otherwise, it wouldn’t get in his mouth. Soup was out of the picture, he was shaking too much to hold a spoon and it would be difficult to feed it to him. A solid then. Fruit and vegetables would work, she could chop some apples, celery, and carrots into small pieces in case she had to force him into eating it. They were healthy and easy to make so it worked out. Maybe so cheese cubes as an alternate flavor and… some type of sauce? She had seen peanut butter paired with celery before. Marinette wondered if it’d taste okay with carrots. Well, only one way to find out. 

As Marinette prepared the food, she absent-mindedly made a small pile of food for herself to eat on the way to Drake’s room. It wasn’t much but it was something. She’d worry about more food after Drake ate what she gave him. As she left the kitchen, she paused in front of a tray of cookies. She had been making them with Alfred before the argument had started. They were cold so she put two in the oven to warm them. Alfred said that’s when they tasted best. They would make a good possible incentive for Drake. 

Marinette traced ~~her~~ _the_ hole she had made with Alfred as she waited for the cookies. The memory of that day brought a smile to her face. She cherished the memories she had made with Alfred before Father had died. They had given her a sort of peace she had lacked. 

She took the cookies out and munched on her pile as she headed to Drake’s room. Despite her fast pace, the manor was large enough for it to be a decent walk. 

____________________________________________________________________________

Drake glared at her as she opened his door, protective of the immense stack of evidence next to him. She didn’t know why he bothered, evidence of his research was pinned everywhere on the walls and the glares had never stopped her before. She  _ probably _ should have looked at those before but getting Drake to eat in his obsessive state had taken all of her attention. 

“Come to tell me I’m insane?” He asked bitterly. He was guarded although she didn’t see the point. They weren’t close enough for her to say anything that’d hurt him. 

“No, I’m here to get you to eat and listen to your claim. I didn’t see it very well from where I was standing.” 

Drake’s eyes lit up as he began to ramble about his findings. “Okay, so it started when I saw this picture of these pilgrims. Except one of them looked like Bruce so I continued to research and-.” she shoved an apple cube into his mouth. He gave her a bewildered (and a bit angry) stare as he struggled not to choke. 

“I said eat. You’ve skipped the last few meals that Alfred brought you so you’re going to eat mine. For every bite you eat I’ll let you talk for another twenty seconds.” She was just glad Drake hadn’t started off with the pilgrim picture when he had tried to convince Grayson. He would have  _ really _ sounded crazy if he had. 

Drake glared at her as he took a piece of celery and ate it. Every bite was filled with spite. Crunch, crunch, crunch. She didn’t even know you could take such small bites out of something that was already small. It was a good thing she was patient. 

...she may have shoved another celery piece in his face after his 15th bite of the same piece. Okay so maybe she didn’t have that much patience. At least she caught the celery bit that he dropped. 

She decided to taunt him in hope of him eating faster. “You would have been able to dodge if you were at your best.” Drake remained silent, there wasn’t much he could dispute from her comment. She ignored his glare for the hand he was holding out. Two pieces of apple and a block of cheese disappeared. 

“Okay so you either have 100 seconds to talk or you can finish everything so you don’t have any interruptions,” she said as soon as he stopped chewing. Drake took a piece of carrot before he continued his ramble. 

“So I started researching and I realized that there are random moments in history where some code I made with Bruce appears, a picture resembling the Bat appears, or someone that looks like Bruce appears. And each story that I can find talks about a serious man who helped people in need. I don’t know  _ exactly _ why he’s appearing at these locations but I think there’s a pattern to how he’s moving. I’m not completely certain though, which is why I’m trying to translate all this code. I think he’s trying to tell-”.

She shoved a cheese cube in his face. “Eat or I won’t listen!” 

“...you’re so fucking rude.” He replied as he ate it. “Anyways, I think he’s trying to tell me through the code but I can’t figure it out.” 

“Why not?” 

Tim grimaced. “It’s my worst enemy, bad quality. There are some things that I know have potential code but I can’t read them from the picture. I have to go there to translate it. And I need to do it soon in case whatever is pulling Bruce through time leaves him stuck in one place.” 

Tim spent more time rambling, with Marinette occasionally gesturing to the food on his plate. If he ignored it for long enough, it was back to shoving. He learned after the first five times that it was easier to just go with it than avoid it. 

Piece by piece the blocks of food disappeared until the plate was clean. Another victory for Marinette. She took out the cookies to celebrate. 

“Originally I was going to use these as incentives but since the first threat worked so well I didn’t need them. You can take them as a way of celebrating a fuller stomach.” 

“Did you make them?” Drake asked, taking one. She moved to give him the other but he just gestured for her to keep it. Well… she  _ did _ want to try the cookies. 

“Not exactly, Alfred was the one to teach me. They’re coffee-flavored.” The word “coffee” was all it took for Drake to rip into his cookie, a look of pleasure on his face. 

“I swear that Alfred is an angel sometimes.” He sighed happily. Well, at least he didn’t need prompting to eat  _ this _ . Alfred would be pleased, he had made them in an attempt to get Drake to eat. 

Marinette bit into her own and warmth filled her mouth. It was a bit bitter but sweet at the same time. Delicious. 

She let her mind wander as she slowly enjoyed her cookie. Now that she had heard everything, what should her choice be? Go with Drake or stay with Damian? Grayson was a worthy protector but was that enough to protect Damian? She still didn’t know if Todd would help, it helped the odds that he knew Damian but at the same time, the sharing of blood with Master Bruce might negate those odds. Was Alfred even healed enough for her to leave him? He’d be taking care of one person less but he also wouldn’t have her to support him. And Drake… she didn’t trust him to go by himself. He was still injured and it didn’t help that he neglected his health. Would Drake even live without her? He was still a good potential ally. This trip could actually get him on Damian’s side if she played her cards right. 

It was a risky play to join Drake but she’d gain  _ so  _ much by doing so. Her  _ Father _ , trust in Drake, a happy Alfred… and maybe a chance to see the world. A chance to see more than the small glimpses she got when they assassinated someone from various parts of the world. And most importantly, there was a better chance of making Damian happy. She’d do a lot for that. She trusted his skill, he could stay alive for a few weeks without her. Maybe he’d get a bit more injured but hopefully, it’d be worth it. 

____________________________________________________________________________

“I’m going with you,” she blurted out. Drake froze, he looked an inch away from spitting out his cookie. If he had it would have been a tragedy. It was a good cookie after all. 

“You’re what!?” He asked after he swallowed. 

“You wanted someone to join you on your quest. I will do so.” 

“I heard you but  _ why _ ? Aren’t you Damian’s servant? Can you even leave like that?” 

“My job as his servant is to do what is best for him, even if that includes leaving him to get his Father back.” Marinette ignored the part of her that said this wasn’t just for Damian. Damian was to be prioritized above any other, including Alfred and herself. 

“Are you sure you’re not going to kill me during this trip? Because Da- no that  _ Demonspawn _ was pretty adamant about the whole killing thing.” He gestured to his injuries, his eyes flicking with distrust. 

“Master Damian just doesn’t know of your usefulness yet.” Besides, if she wanted to kill him, he’d be dead. Most likely poison since he didn’t check for it before he ate. 

Drake scoffed, his voice bitter. “Yeah, usefulness. Not being nice, or being intelligent, or… I don’t know! Being a possible good brother or mentor or someone to confide in! I’m not above forgiving the brat if he apologizes!” 

“...there is no shame in being useful. Being useful keeps you alive.” 

“Or you could be killed if you’re useful to the wrong person.” Drake refuted.

“Still, being useful will most likely get you further than your personality ever will.” 

Drake snorted. “You can’t even say anything! Your personality is just  _ being _ useful.” Well, that was kind of the point. She was meant to be useful and loyal, nothing else. A loyal dog until the end. Forgettable, docile, quiet. 

“I’m alive, aren’t I?” 

Drake just looked at her. “Are you  _ really _ ?” 

She glanced around the room. Other than the pages of evidence and a patch with the Superman symbol on it, there was nothing personal. Marinette stared back at Drake. “Are you?” 

Drake broke eye-contact. “Of course I am. I have friends I hang out with all the time. And even though I just argued with Dick, he’s still family. So is Alfred. When I get Bruce back, he’ll be back in my family as well.” 

“Then where are they?” she asked. “Where are all your friends while you’re desperately looking for your Father and emotionally hurt because of your brother?” 

Drake was quick to rush to their defense. “They would be here if they could!” 

“Why can’t they?” 

“They’re busy and… I just… I just never told them.” 

“Why not?” 

Drake ran his finger over his hair. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just so used to not having anyone to share with that I didn’t think-,” he paused, staring at her. “Why am I even telling you this? You’re like  _ eight _ . I shouldn’t even be  _ saying _ this type of stuff to you.” Well, she was ten but whatever. 

“Master Drake I think we’re way past the line for what’s considered normal. I  _ did  _ just shove pieces of food at you for an hour to get you to eat.” 

“...Fair.” 

“Besides, part of having a  _ useful _ personality is being there when you need someone to talk to.” 

“And being a nuisance about food.” Drake jokingly grumbled. 

“...yes, that too. So if you want I can listen. Or if you don’t I’ll just continue to think you have no life.” 

“...I have a life. I have friends. I just didn’t tell my friends anything because having neglectful parents can screw you over.” 

“Ah yes, neglectful parents are tiresome.” 

“Wait, you have parents!?” 

….She didn’t really know how to answer that. “I wouldn’t really call them  _ parents _ as they don’t consider me their daughter. But yes, I do have parents.” 

“That explains why Bruce didn’t adopt you.”

~~ No, he didn’t adopt me because he’s dead ~~ “...I doubt that was the problem, I’ve heard that he has mentally adopted Barbara Gordon. Her father is not dead.” 

“True, he also adopted me before my parents died.” 

There was a long pause as Drake stood there, lost in thought. Marinette startled when he randomly began waving his arms around and pacing. His voice got louder over time, starting at a mumble but nearly yelling by the end. 

“So! Long story short I just realized that the majority of my loneliness is self-isolation because I’m not used to having people to reach out to. I was either on my own or I relied on Bruce. I guess I  _ could _ have relied on Alfred but it was always Bruce for me because  _ Batman _ can solve any problem. …And of course the first time I come to this revelation is with an eight-year-old.” Well, she was going to take pride that in a way she was taking her Father’s place by being reliable but his last sentence kind of killed it. 

“So now that you’re aware of your issue, why not communicate with your friends now?” 

Drake hesitated. “I shouldn’t. This is something between us, we shouldn’t involve them.” Well, Marinette wasn’t going to argue that. She was uncomfortable with the idea of sharing this journey with strangers, even if they would be good connections.

“Shall we leave tomorrow, then?” 

Drake nodded. “I’ll pack my bag. I’ll see you in front at six.” 

* * *

~Meme Time~ 

Marinette: "Eat!" 

Tim: "I ain't eatin" 

Marinette: *takes out her beloved knife, sharpening it in front of him.* "I got ways of making people talk." *slams a plate of cookies in front of him. She slices a cookie in half so he can see the delicious things inside.* 

Tim: Can I have some? 

Marinette: "Cookies are for eaters"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ten-year-olds are straight savage my dude
> 
> OH YEAH HAPPY HOLIDAY MY GUYS GALS AND NONBINARY PALS


	19. The Green Katana (Part 3 of a Day Full of Arguments)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some days Mari wishes she was a bird. It's a good thing she has good friends who keep her human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Celestial_Ruined_My_Life (my lovely editor that I wouldn't be able to do this without) made a tumblr for "I would like One Family Please" memes! It's a new thing so there probably isn't a lot yet but she will be adding more (dude she has several prepared it's just a matter of efficiently getting them onto Tumblr). ...if you have any advice... please leave it. 
> 
> Lmao she also wants you to know that it contains cursing
> 
> Tumblr: https://iwouldlikeonefamilyplease.tumblr.com/
> 
> Also! I edited the first chapter so that it'd fit better with the story. For those who don't want to reread anything, I basically made it so that instead of the Pits having no effect on Mari in the beginning, she links all the effects to Damian. So, she only really becomes blood-thirsty when Damian is hurt. Of course, there are still times when she can feel the Pit taking hold but it doesn't control her as much because she's already killing on daily basis and she was trained to be able to control herself.

Marinette stood in front of Damian’s room, reminiscent of how Grayson had stood in front of Drake’s room. She wasn’t… _afraid_ of Damian’s reaction. Just… concerned. She was well aware that her actions were technically treason. It was a significant rule that a servant could not just _choose_ to leave their master, no matter the reason. It would go against Damian’s teachings to let her go, especially when she was informing him rather than requesting. She had no doubt that requesting would be pointless, as he would refuse. After all, why would he accept the word of his adversary? Still, she _had_ to let him know.

Marinette knocked and waited patiently until Damian expressed confirmation that she was allowed inside. It was dark, with her master carefully cleaning his katana. Each wipe was slow and gentle, with the entirety of his focus on it, as if it was the only thing keeping him together. Weapons _were_ his favorite way to distract himself from his emotional distress. 

He finally looks up to glare at her, partially in an attempt to poorly hide his vulnerability and partially to nonverbally ask her to explain herself. Marinette wanted to laugh. She had studied Damian for far too long - he couldn’t hide anything from her. 

Not a word was spoken as they stared at each other. A small “fight” for dominance, as if she would ever let herself win. She could feel her throat trying to close as if her body was physically trying to prevent her from announcing her leave. However, she would not let things go so easily. 

“I shall be joining Drake in an attempt to find your Father,” she informed him before she could convince herself otherwise. Marinette attempted to sound confident to reassure him that she would handle the situation. She expected the strike but it hurt.

It was a sharp enough slap that it would leave a mark on her face. It was hard enough to cause her to stumble but not enough to knock her down completely.

“So you’re trying to leave me,” Damian scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. His eyes shone a poisonous green - she hated that it reminded her of the Pits. “What a _disgraceful_ servant you turned out to be,” he said, harshly emphasizing how she had disgraced her title. He grabbed her arm, running his thumb over the place Talia had once tried to brand her. “Had I known you’d attempt to run away at the first opportunity, I would not have stopped _Mother_ from carving your place into your skin.” It was easier to pretend to be annoyed by the implication that she needed to know her place rather than address the _hurt_ she felt when he announced his regret. His protection of her had powered her through many draining days; it would have hurt less to rip her heart out of her chest than to have heard that he ever regretted saving her. 

So she pretended. “I do _not_ need a scar to remind me of who I serve.” She sniffed, giving off false coolness and irritation. 

“Hm, I’d say that your actions have proved otherwise.” 

“Master Damian, I’m _not_ running away. I’m ensuring the safety of Master Bruce.” 

Damian’s eyes were judgemental and full of scorn. “Tch. You believe the cries of a fool?” 

“A fool with enough evidence may be more than a fool.”

“Tt. You call what he listed ‘evidence’?” 

“I call it something worth investigating. Better prepared than not.” 

“At least Drake will have a greater fool to accompany him. Tch. It is as they say, who’s more foolish, the fool or the fool or follows him?” Marinette was kind of getting sick of his bullshit. 

“At least we’ll know for certain whether your Father is dead.” She felt a bit guilty when Damian flinched but she was too emotionally drained to regret her bluntness. 

“Why does such a thing even matter to you?” Damian asked angrily. _Because he is mine as well._ She wanted to reply. Instead, she chose to say nothing. Damian began to circle her, staring at her intensely as if he could read the answers off of her if he looked hard enough. “Is it because my Father was foolish enough to treat you kindly?” She hated that look on his face, a mixture of jealousy, hurt, and resentment. “Is it because he broke the rules of a master and called you by your _supposed_ name?” She stayed silent, avoiding another glance at his face by staring at the window. Perhaps in another life she could be a bird. One that would be able to fly out this window and away from this horrid room.

“ _Marinette, Marinette, Marinette,”_ Damian mocked, venomous hatred spewing out of his mouth. She dared not move, even when he walked behind her. “Such a terrible servant to lie to her Master, _Khadima_ ,” he said, grabbing her arm and spinning her until they faced each other eye to eye. “Or better yet, _servant.”_ Well, Marinette _was_ shorter than servant if you counted the rest of her proper title. Which she did, of course, because if you were going to refer to her as a servant you should at least make sure you were addressing the right one. And servant to the heir of the League of _Assassins_ was _kind_ of a mouthful. She couldn’t imagine her Waynes addressing her as such. _Grayson_ was more likely to cry and _Drake_ would find it frustrating. 

“I am leaving tomorrow. I shall work hastily to return to you,” she said, her face blank. He snarled at her, katana in hand. She simply watched as blood dripped from the weapon, her shirt ruined. A part of the Pits came back just looking at the beautiful dark red that decorated the katana, matching perfectly with the jewel on its hilt. 

“I will prepare your nightwear,” she said calmly, ignoring her wound and her awakened craving for death from the Pits. She took out a pair of comfortable clothes and a towel, setting them gently on his bed. Her outward nature was a clear contrast to the raging Pits in her head. “Goodnight, Master Damian,” she said, bowing before she left the room. She ignored the angry slash across her back as she left Damian standing in an empty room. 

___________________________________________

Stitching the wounds by herself was proving to be very difficult. Marinette had taken the time to calm the loudest of the Pit by killing a few traitors (although she had wrapped herself entirely in bandages first), but now she could hold off on this task no longer. 

It turns out that straight lines were hard to stitch onto yourself when the wound was on your chest. Well, if it did turn out bad, what was the harm in another scar? 

She ignored the part that loved this pain. The part that said she deserved this as punishment for her failures. As long as Damian was alive, there was nothing she couldn’t fix for him. 

___________________________________________

On the tenth stitch, there was a knock on the door. Three precise knocks. Alfred. Only he knocked like that. 

“Come in!” she yelled from her chair. Usually, she’d open the door for him but the stitches said no. Marinette observed him closely as he walked in. Only the smallest flicker of surprise shone through Alfred’s professional mask before it died completely. 

“Marinette, you may need a bit of help with that,” was his only response. There was no question about the numerous scars or the new slashes, although she was sure he was curious. 

There was a beat before Marinette went to lay down on her bed, holding the needle up for Alfred to use. He tutted worriedly at the sloppy stitches she had done but continued with neat lines across the rest. 

They worked in silence, giving Marinette time to replay her conversation with Damian. “Alfred, am I a bad servant?” 

There was a slight pause in the stitching as he registered her question. “Of course not, Marinette.” 

“But I’m leaving my Master behind.” 

“Marinette, you’re doing the best thing you can for Master Damian. Something well over your duty to him as a servant. There is no doubt of your skill.” 

“So joining Master Drake is a good choice?” 

“I’m inclined to believe so.” 

“I’m leaving Damian by himself, though. How can I protect him if I’m not there?” 

Alfred sighed. “Marinette, while you are no doubt a wonderful servant and protector to Master Damian, you must remember that he is a capable warrior within his own right. He also has the protection of Master Richard now that they are a duo.” 

Marinette just looked him in the eye. She’d never know it but Alfred nearly recoiled at the sight. The pure fear in her eyes was overwhelming. “Is that enough?” She whispered, her voice tight with stress and anxiety. 

“Master Richard will not protect him on his own. He will have help, not only from me but also” - he looked to the doorway, where Barbara and Kori had appeared - “from a few other worthy warriors.” 

“Marinette, can we come in?” Barbara asked softly. She nodded, and they took their place next to Alfred. 

“I believe that is my cue to leave. I wish you luck on your trip, in case I am unable to say so in the morning. Have a good night,” and with the passing of a needle once more, Alfred was gone. 

“We came here to support Dick but we thought about seeing you first,” Barbara explained quietly. Marinette opened her mouth to protest this special treatment but Kori beat her to the punch. 

“Ah! There is no need to be concerned! Dick has his two hands full of Damian so we decided we should have our hands full with you!” 

“Not that you’re a handful, what Star is saying is that he’s busy and we love you so we don’t mind spending some time with you while we wait. Lasses before dumbasses, right?” 

Marinette couldn’t help but smile back at the two. “Yes, lasses before dumbasses.” 

“So, which dumbass gave you these cuts?” Barbara asked, attempting to hide her anger with humor. 

“It was a small... altercation between Master Damian and me.” 

“While I am not entirely aware of what’s considered normal on Earth, I doubt these marks are part of anything considered ‘small’,” Kori commented, looking at her with disapproval. She was tempted to squirm under it - for some reason the stare made her feel bad. 

“Two questions - why’d the little dumbass hit you and did he come out worse?” 

Marinette looked at her in shock, appalled at the thought of hurting Damian. “I’d never hurt Damian!” 

“So then why’d he hurt you?” 

Marinette curled in on herself. “From his point of view, I was being a bad servant.” 

“So he attacked you?!” Barbara exclaimed while Kori exclaimed, “That is unjust! He should be punished for his crime!” 

“No! I was the one being bad, Damian was just following his teachings.”

“Marinette, I doubt you could ever _be_ bad. Damian was obviously in the wrong here, even if it was from what he was learning.” Marinette was beginning to feel stressed about the situation, she didn’t want them to think badly of him! 

“...I shouldn’t have said anything. Damian isn’t what you think, he’s worth it.” 

“And you’re not?” Kori asked, beating Barbara to the chase. 

“Damian is _everything_ to me. He is worth more than I will _ever_ be.” 

Barbara grabbed her shoulders, barely restraining herself from shaking her. And goddammit if Marinette hadn’t been hurt she would have. “Marinette, Damian doesn’t _have_ to be your everything. You’re worth enough on your own.” 

“Yes! You’re part of the Waffle Gang! Only women of great worth could even attempt to get in,” Kori added. Marinette… was tired. She was happy they cared so much about her but she couldn’t bring herself to believe that she had any supposed worth without Damian. All her accomplishments had been centered around him, after all. But she was too tired to argue about this with them. Was there a point? They’d never understand her feelings. 

“...Can you just promise me something? Please?” Marinette was near begging at this point. Begging for them to just _accept_ this promise because she was so very tired of arguing. Or just talking, really.

“Depends. Is it something that will help you?” 

“Will you _please_ look after Damian while I’m gone?” 

“Marinette, _what_ did I just say,” Barbara replied in complete exasperation. 

“Technically, it _does_ help me. It gives me less stress knowing that Damian is better protected.” 

“I will protect Damian when I can!” Kori promised, “but I am unsure of whether he needs it. Dick is very capable of protecting him on his own.” 

Barbara nodded in agreement. “Besides, I think Damian needs more privacy with Dick more than he needs extra eyes on him. But if it helps you out, I’ll make sure to keep an eye on him.” 

“Do you think Stephanie would agree as well?” Marinette asked them. 

“Yeah, probably. In fact, now that she knows you’ve been deprived of a childhood she’ll probably connect that Damian will have had similar experiences and try to introduce him to childhood.” Well, she wouldn’t have called their experiences _similar._

“...I never said I’ve been deprived of any childhood.”

“Marinette, Stephanie is the daughter of a villain, Kori’s sister tried to kill her, and I’m the daughter of a detective. It’s not hard to piece out bad childhoods when we see it.” 

“Well -” 

“Also… I’m not sure how else to bring this up, but I know Damian is your brother. And it’s concerning to me that you’re treated like a servant when he’s your family. I mean, the whole Batfam is kind of dysfunctional but even _we_ know there’s something off about that.” 

“...I’m not Damian’s sister.” 

Barbara snorted. “And I’m not dating Kori.” 

“Wait, but you _are_ dating me!” 

“It’s sarcasm, Star. Anyways, jokes aside, it’s really concerning that your _brother_ is treating you this way. It’s not healthy, especially when you almost _justify_ his abuse against you. Marinette, _no one_ deserves to be treated the way you allow yourself to be treated.”

Marinette just sighed, casting her eyes on the floor. She didn’t want to argue about this with Barbara, she didn’t have the energy. She stiffened when she felt warm hands on her face, forcing her to look Barbara in the eye. 

“Marinette, I _know_ you don’t believe me now. I _understand_ that and I hope I can one day break this through to you. But for now, I just _need_ you to listen. You’re a person, Marinette. A _child._ You have a right to defend yourself, to fight back when you’re attacked. You’re _allowed_ to be angry at someone who does something wrong to you, even when they’re family or blood. You can’t _imagine_ how many times I’ve gotten angry at Star and Dick but we’re _still_ here in a happy relationship. Being _angry_ is natural, and you should allow yourself to feel it.” It sounded fake, this freeness to be angry. It felt _wrong._ She didn’t _want_ to think about being angry at Damian. 

“...What gave it away that I’m related to Master Bruce?” She asked feebly in an attempt to change the subject. Barbara, noticing that she was on the brink of losing it, allowed the change. 

“Well, there’s more evidence that links you to Bruce than evidence that doesn’t, and since you came from the same place Damian did, it was obvious that you were siblings.” 

“...What evidence?” 

“You act like him. A lot, actually. I thought I was seeing a mini, female Bruce the first time I saw you. Expressive eyes, serious but calm look, same far-away gaze when you’re lost in thought. And that’s not even mentioning the looks. Same exact blue, the same type of hair, same eyebrows, and eye shape, etc. The point is, how come no one else has figured it out when it’s so obvious?” 

Marinette glared at her. 

“Oh yeah, and that glare is _definitely_ a Batdad glare.” 

“To be fair, it’d be less obvious if you had met Damian first,” Marinette argued. 

“Oh yeah, Dick has been telling me that he’s a special case.” 

“...Something like that.” 

“Considering everything that just happened, I’m pretty sure ‘special case’ is not the right term.” 

“...Probably not,” Marinette admitted. 

There was a moment of silence. 

“...Are you going to tell everyone the truth?” she asked.

Kori was the first to shake her head. “It is not right to share someone else’s truth. But I’d advise that you share it soon - secrets can be dangerous.” 

“Besides, if those dumbasses can’t figure it out, who are we to spoil it for them?” 

“Thank you. I have my reasons for not telling but I hope that for now, you can trust me on this.” 

They both nodded.

“Just look out for yourself, okay?” Barbara said. “You can’t give them the big reveal if you’re dead.” 

___________________________________________

Marinette laid in bed, thinking of the love and support she had received from the women here. Barbara, Stephanie, and Kori. So very different from the women who trained her, despite having a similar background in fighting. Her teachers had been cold, hard, and _mean._ Her worth had been based on her usefulness, her abilities. They had taken advantage of every opportunity to hurt her, especially since they could revive her at any time. But these women… her Waffle Gang… they were kind to her. They knew nothing of her talent or skill and yet they made time for her. They _still_ thought she mattered. Why? What made them see her so differently than her teachers? 

Except… one of her mentors had acted as they did. A flash of green eyes crossed her mind as she remembered a certain woman whose treatment contrasted with that of the rest. A woman Marinette could barely remember, but one who had once cherished every moment with Marinette. The woman she had wished from the bottom of her heart to be hers, who Marinette had wished to call _Mother_ . But, she had only received years without her Mother ~~mentor~~ when she had needed her most. 

_Shajara._ It wasn’t her real name but it was the only name she had for her. It meant tree, because trees were strong and stayed in one place (although the reasoning she gave was that her eyes were green like a picture of a tree she saw). It was silly to hope that she would stick by that given title. A more fitting name would have been Waraqat Alshajar, because like a leaf, she flew away. 

Still, Marinette remembered how Shajara introduced her to _kindness._ Such a thing had been revolutionary the first time it was performed; when she helped Marinette off the ground instead of leaving her on the floor. It was then continuously introduced to her, in Shajara helping her with her injuries and giving her positive attention that left her _obsessing_ over those moments for _days._

It came flooding back to her, the words of reassurance, the compliments, and the smiles. Those genuine, warm smiles whenever she did something well. 

Marinette barely noticed when tears dripped down her face, lost in the memories. 

She had forgotten about Shajara as life moved on. It had been easier to forget her than to remember what she lost. But now she was free from the League, no matter how fleeting that freedom was. Perhaps Marinette could find Shajara one day, just to thank her for what she did for her. 

She wrote down a list of every physical trait she could remember, which wasn’t much. A kind smile, green eyes, slim, and blonde hair that she had never seen. It wasn’t much, but she wouldn’t be a good assassin if she couldn’t go off of little things. 

Marinette ignored the dread that Shajara could be dead. ~~After all, that was what happened to all of _Damian’s_ missing teachers. ~~

___________________________________________

~POV Change~ 

Damian stood alone in his room, slowly drowning in guilt. It felt pathetic to feel this way - he had only done his duty as a Master. And yet, the blood on his katana made his stomach curdle in disgust. 

It had just… it had _hurt_ to hear that the only person he had left was leaving him. Leaving him for his _rival_ , no less. And she had just _looked_ at him with those blank eyes and he had attacked without thinking. He had never been able to stand her eyes when they were so dead, so devoid of the emotions that usually gleamed from them, obvious for everyone to see. Or at least, obvious to _him._ To look at those dead eyes as she told him she was leaving was more painful than a stab wound. It was like he was the only one who cared - it was pathetic. 

He should have stopped there; one slash was enough. It was humiliating that he had even _allowed_ his anger to overrule him in the first place. But then… then she had just turned and _left_. Left the same way his Mother did, back turned without looking back. She left like his Father did, abruptly and without him by her side. He had barely been able to stand the departure of his parents and yet she left as well. Could she not tell that he _couldn’t_ lose another person, or did she simply not care? Damian wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter, especially after what he had just done. 

He looked down at the blade, the one Mother had gifted him before she dropped him like a hot stone. The red had been to celebrate future pain inflicted by the blade, and he had done just that. He had caused pain. It didn’t feel like anything worth celebrating. 

His Mother would have argued that it was. Her love always seemed to shrink away whenever he failed to show “proper Masterhood”. The pain he had caused Khadima would have earned him that rare, proud smile from Mother. Softness was what caused insolence, as she always said. He should have stuck with her rules from the start - maybe then _she_ wouldn’t be leaving without his consent.

Damian started as he realized that a small pool of blood had appeared under his katana. How long had he been standing there?

He looked at the blade again. The touch of elegance and beauty he once saw in it was gone, leaving nothing but shame behind. It was different, he felt, to hurt Khadima when she was at his mercy rather than attack her when she could dodge. It was like killing a kitten - he was weak to it in a way that angered Mother. That was what the katana had become: a weapon that made his stomach turn in guilt. 

For hours, Damian washed every speck of blood from the floor and the katana. The katana shone by the end, but he felt none of the usual pride from it. Instead, he buried it under a pile of other weapons, unable to use it but unwilling to let go of the last present his Mother had given him. He took out another katana instead, one decorated in green.

It felt like a breath of fresh air, the green bringing back his love for the weapon. It would make a suitable replacement. (Damian ignored the voice in his head that told him it was also the one that Khadima had favored). 

Tomorrow, he would follow his Mother’s teachings and do whatever it took to get Khadima to stay.

___________________________________________

~POV Change~ 

As Alfred left, he was sure he had done the right thing by giving Marinette some space. While he was angry beyond belief that anyone would hurt her like that (and he was certain he knew who that “anyone” was), he found that his calm presence helped her anxiety more than his anger did. It had been difficult, however, to stay calm after he saw the scars on her back. 

He had been tempted to ask Marinette about them, but he didn’t want to push her. She had faced that method her entire life, of being pushed and pushed past her limits and forced to give up things she’d rather not. Alfred was of the opinion that instead, what Marinette needed was a strong but subtle approach that allowed her to feel secure. And if he was wrong about his approach, Barbara and Kori were suitable for the situation. 

The last of his worries melted away as he heard Barbara encourage Marinette. Yes, they could handle this. 

It was a slow battle, getting Marinette to enjoy things for her own sake, but one worth fighting. And if that meant letting her go far away from Damian under the guise of helping him, so be it. If they got back his son in the process, all the better. 

___________________________________________

~Bloopers!~

Here are a couple of excerpts that we had to change for tonal consistency or just so that the chapter wouldn’t get derailed. :)

“Also, you’re a literal servant to your brother, if that doesn’t scream red flags I’m not really sure what does.” 

“Talia had dropped Damian like a hot potato.”

Here… is the disaster spawned from three hours of editing this monster of a chapter. And that last quote. … Admittedly, more from that last quote… Prepare yourselves for whiplash. … A _lot_ of whiplash.

Talia: oh, mamma mia, that is so hot! 

*drops Damian* 

Damian: mother, why have you betrayed me like this?

Talia: oh, mamma mia, I did not realize that you were not a hot potato my dear boy! 

*Bruce comes from the sky, falling in a T-pose* 

Bruce: DID SOMEONE SAY HOT POTATO?! 

*steals hot potato and zooms* 

Dick: 

*distant screaming as Bruce steals his hundredth hot potato* 

Tim: 

*distant screaming as a hot potato launches itself onto him* 

Bruce: POTATOES!

*dies* 

Marinette: 

*runs after the hot potato, screaming her lungs out as well* 

*slaps Bruce. Bruce is instantly revived and ready to steal more potatoes* 

Selina: why have potatoes… when you can have milk?

*snorts milk like it’s crack* 

Harley Quinn: WHO’S READY TO SMASH SOME POTATOES!?

*takes out giant mallet*

Bruce: 

*screams so loudly that the milk bowl breaks* 

Selina:

*tries to kill Bruce* 

Marinette: 

*tired of life, she lets Selina kill Bruce*

Selina: 

*is so high on milk that she accidentally kills Talia instead* 

Damian: 

*the hot potato boy cries himself to sleep, surrounded by bagels* 

Marinette: 

*rides a dapper dorky doughnut out into the abyss*

Dick:

*gets addicted to cereal and dies fighting Selina for milk* 

Tim: 

*dies after fourteen days of no sleep* 

Jason: 

*kills Bruce and also himself when he slips on a doughnut right next to a skyscraper, accidentally knocking the grappling hook out of Bruce’s hand in the process* 

Selina:

*continues to snort milk*

Editor: *sighs* don’t worry ladies, gentlemen, and nonbinary friends, this is _not_ canon.

Author: ...but it could be 

Editor: NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT. you are all _blessed_ with the bloopers you’ve gotten so far, none of them are canon. I refuse to let Bruce be killed by a doughnut. Not again.

Author: lmao but that would be the b e s t. 

Editor: please. no. we’re going to cover the rest of the Miraculous show, remember? we have a _plan_ , remember?

Author: ...how often do our plans change? 

Editor: SHUT.

anyways! happy early new year to all of the readers out there!!! the author and i greatly appreciate your support and comments, even if we don’t respond to them all :)

have a lovely day/evening/afternoon, and don’t forget to take care of yourselves!

(am i stealing this last part from another author? ….. maybe. 10 points to whoever guesses who it is!!)

Author: Yes! Happy early New Year! ...wow this took so much more time than I planned it to rip 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm a person with green eyes and blonde hair you say....


	20. Kuala and Amzi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rip Toy Story

It was a quiet morning as she and Drake walked outside of their rooms, each with a bag in hand. They sleepily shuffled down the stairs to find food on the table for both of them. Alfred had cooked a warm breakfast, one last meal before they left. It was eaten in blissful silence, neither of them willing to talk after a long night of preparation. 

Marinette clutched her koala plush tightly in her left hand, using her right to eat her pancakes. She savored them, unsure of when she’d eat something like this again. They were warm and soft, with enough maple syrup to sweeten them without overdoing it. There were even bits of dark chocolate for the special occasion, despite it being a somber one. Marinette had been quick to decide that those were her favorite parts. It was like finding a tiny surprise every time she tasted a bit of chocolate!

It had been a last-minute decision to bring Kuala with her. The stuffed animal wasn’t a necessity, but she was afraid it’d get lonely if she left it in her room. Logically she knew that toys didn’t feel anything, let alone feel lonely, but she couldn’t help but worry. What if toys  _ did  _ get lonely but no one knew because they couldn’t tell anyone? It would be terrible to sit in a room by herself for days on end. The last thought terrified her enough to hold Kuala even closer to herself, promising to never forget about it. 

___

No one other than Alfred chose to accompany them. It wasn’t unexpected - Dick was against either of them leaving and Damian was… Damian. It didn’t stop Marinette from being a little disappointed that he had not said his goodbyes.

Looking back on it, in hindsight, she would have been _so_ _much_ _happier_ if Damian had stuck to the silent treatment. It would’ve been so much better than what _actually_ happened.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Marinette walked outside of the manor alone. Drake had told her to leave without him, and Alfred had stayed behind to assist.

She suddenly stopped in her tracks as she saw what was ahead. In front of her stood Damian, holding a familiar katana with green decorations in his hand. Behind him was the car they were going to use, its wheels slashed viciously, holes gaping in the thick rubber.

“... Damian?” she asked.

She had never seen him like this, had never seen him with such a mad spark in his eyes, and she felt uneasy as his gaze stayed locked on her.

“Khadima. It seems that you’ve forgotten your place.” She shivered. His voice was calm, too calm for his typical anger. “I have not permitted you to leave, so you shall not.” 

She felt steel hands grip her wrist, and she knew that there would be bruises later. Marinette shuddered, ice-cold fear shooting through her veins. She had not anticipated having to directly disobey his orders.

“Damian, I  _ have to  _ le-” 

“NO!” Damian roared. His katana came dangerously close to her as she stepped back. “You’re  _ not leaving.  _ If you do, I’ll have no issue sending Todd after you as a way of…  _ convincing _ you to come back.” Marinette froze completely. She stopped  _ breathing _ . He  _ wouldn’t _ .

His cold glare said otherwise.

“If you come now, your punishment shall not be as harsh. But once you try to leave…” He let the silence trail off, but the dangerous glint in his eyes told her what he meant. Her hands squeezed around her stuffed plush as she gathered up her courage. There was no choice for her in this situation - no matter what the consequences were, she  _ had _ to leave. 

“I’m sorry, Damian, but I can’t stay.” 

“Then deal with your punishment.” He swung his katana at her and she dodged instinctively, but the blade never came close enough to even touch her. She was confused until she realized what he had done.

Kuala had been slashed open, its wound disturbingly similar to the one she had gained the night before. Stuffing flew out everywhere as it hung limply from her white-knuckled grip, dead. It felt like its eyes had lost its shine, and its face looked sadder than before. Marinette wanted to cry at the damage. It would have hurt less to hit  _ her _ \- at least  _ she  _ could heal. Her cherished koala could not.

“No!” She screamed, falling down on her knees as she collected the stuffing. She could save it if she picked up all of the pieces!

Damian moved to slash at Kuala again, but she spun around and dove in front of it. To her surprise, no blow hit her back. “Tt,” Damian scoffed. Instead of slashing her, he shoved her to the side with his foot.

She could only watch in horror as he slashed down her Kuala’s face. No no no no no  _ no _ !

He held up the plush with disinterest and let it dangle, watching more stuffing blow out, lost to the wind.

“Are you sure leaving is the best option?” He asked menacingly, his katana glinting sharply. When she didn’t give him an immediate answer, he stabbed the weapon into the car. She startled at the discordant shriek and sparks that flew from it as he dragged the blade through the gleaming metal. “ANSWER ME!”

She felt like a broken record. She couldn’t stay, she couldn’t stay, she  _ couldn’t stay _ . “Ye-yes, I-I need to go -”

He roared in anger again, fluidly pulling the katana out of the car. He lunged, probably to attack her, but she was pulled out of the way.

“What the  _ fuck _ , Damian!” Drake yelled, standing in front of her.

“Drake, stay  _ out _ of this. This is between my  _ servant _ and  _ me _ !” Damian stalked forward angrily and Drake stepped back, throwing an arm out to keep Marinette behind him.

“She  _ isn’t _ your  _ servant _ ! You can’t just-just order her around and tell her what to do! She’s a  _ person. _ ”

“Tt. Of course, your small mind can’t _comprehend_ the workings of the League. She was assigned to me upon her birth and she will continue to be mine until I no longer have any use of her. Not that she’s being particularly useful at the moment.”

Drake stared at him, horrified. “She’s not something you can just  _ use _ !”

Damian ignored him, tilting his head as if he was thinking. “Maybe I’ll just kill her if she keeps betraying me. And you as well, if you try to stop me. You should know, Drake, that useless people are better off dead.”

Drake glared at him balefully. “I’m a  _ Wayne _ , just like you. And when we bring  _ our  _ Father back, you’ll see how useful we really are.” Marinette’s heart skipped a beat when he said “our”, but realized that he was referring to himself and Damian, excluding her. 

“Tt, so you continue making yourself lousy competition  _ and _ a nuisance. I should have just killed you from the  _ start _ .”

There was no questioning his intent now as he confidently raised his katana. Drake tensed, ready to dodge, but there was no need. As he stepped forward, Damian jerked back as he was suddenly restrained by Grayson and Alfred.

“Go!” Grayson yelled at the both of them, throwing Drake a set of keys.

There was no other exchange between the two of them as Drake and Marinette ran, leaving Grayson behind to restrain Damian. She supposed neither was ready to give anything else after what happened the day before. It was fine - they’d have  _ plenty  _ of space to heal after the next few weeks. Hopefully, she could fix Kuala in the meantime.

___________________________________________________________________________

They drove in silence as Marinette fretted over Kuala, nervously fiddling with its open stomach and attempting to push in the overflowing stuffing. Drake fidgeted awkwardly, unsure of what to do about her distress.

“...Do you want to go buy a new one? We have time for a quick trip if you need it.” 

Marinette was quick to shake her head, clutching the mutilated plush defensively. “ _ Never _ ! I can  _ never _ replace the original!” 

“...Alright. Want to go pick up some supplies so we can fix it?” 

“ _ Please.”  _

There was no other interaction between the two as Marinette quietly reassured herself that Kuala would be  _ fine _ . Yes, it’d have some stitches but-but that would just mean that they’d be matching!

She hugged it close, her heart  _ pounding _ against her chest as she realized what she’d nearly lost. While what the Waffle Gang had given her held great significance, the plush had been the first physical gift she had received from her  _ family.  _ She never knew when it might be the only thing she’d have of them.

___________________________________________________________________________

**DAMIAN’S POV**

Damian stood calmly over his desk, sharpening his katana. There were small bags under his eyes, but that meant nothing when the time he had spent was used productively. And this  _ was _ productive - it was a way of stopping Khadima from  _ leaving him _ .

His sword shone in the light. Violence was the only solution.

It was almost freeing to feel this calm as he slashed the tires of the car in front of him, barely noticing the loud screeches as his katana dragged along metal. His head was clear, instead of the bubbling mess of uncontrollable anger it had been the night before. Instead of the usual heat, he felt cold and empty, the entirety of his being focused on doing one thing: getting Khadima to stay.

It had been disgusting,  _ pathetic  _ for someone such as him to feel so desperate over a servant. It was a sign of weakness to  _ beg  _ her to stay. Damian Al Ghul was no weakling. No - he’d force  _ her _ to beg  _ him _ , make her  _ plead _ to be his servant, not the other way around.

A slight buzz began to settle into his skull, the words of his mother filling his mind. _Good_. He’d need her advice if he wanted to keep Khadima here.

Damian paused, remembering how he was taught to handle his servant, a lesson taught after he refused to have her branded.

**FLASHBACK**

_ “ _ Weak _ ,” his mother murmured, prowling around him. Damian dared not move or even  _ breathe _ with her poisonous gaze on him. It hurt to  _ **_stand_ ** , _ at this point, but Damian was nothing if not a survivor. “What you did - it was  _ **_weak_ ** _. We do not provide mercy to our servants. Mercy only encourages insolence.” _

_ Mother grabbed his chin harshly, her nails digging into his cheek. “A master is only worth their  _ **_power_ ** _. A master with no power is worthless, and they deserve to join their servants under our feet.” _

_ To prove her point, she dug her foot into the kneeling man beside her. “You are the heir to the League, Damian. If you want to survive, you cannot allow a single moment of weakness. It would be  _ **_such_ ** _ a shame if you disappointed me.” _

___

Mother had left him there, remorseless of what she’d done. Damian knew that if he wanted to avoid a repeat of the past, he needed to show his strength. He would not let Khadima go without a fight. 

___________________________________________________________________________

Damian awoke to an ache in his head and an emptiness in his heart. Khadima was  _ gone _ . He had  _ failed _ . The last thing he remembered was screaming out his pain in the form of insults and threats before Grayson had given him a harsh blow to the head, knocking him out. 

He scowled at that - usually, he would have been able to dodge that but the emotional pain had been too much of a distraction.

Damian got out of bed, but he didn’t bother leaving the room. The manor would feel empty without her and he wasn’t willing to face that.

Instead, Damian replayed the confrontation in his head, guilt, pain, and confusion weaving together as he remembered Khadima’s reaction when he’d threatened her with Todd. He felt like dying every time he remembered her fear, the way she  _ completely _ froze and harshly gripped her stuffed animal.

In truth, he did not understand her reaction to his last threat. Damian knew that Khadima didn’t like Todd, that she felt  _ uncomfortable  _ around him, but he had never seen why that was. In fact, it was a bit strange because Damian had once been…  _ fond  _ of Todd. 

While he was aware of Todd’s Pit Madness, he had only met the man when he was sane. It was like gaining a new weapon, a breath of fresh air. Todd was a new doorway to a place he’d never been before, a place with his  _ Father _ .

It was strange, listening to Todd talk about Father. It differed greatly from Mother’s point of view. While his Mother only talked of his greatness, Todd told him stories of a man with flaws. A stubborn man that bled and broke but refused to give up. One that gave fond smiles and deep chuckles and was crazy enough to adopt his opponent rather than kill him. It was strange, listening to Todd, because as hateful as he was, he was also  _ devoted _ . Dealing with his Father’s coldness had been difficult when he recalled those stories. 

Damian knew that a person with Pit Madness was dangerous - he was not  _ naive _ . He knew there was a chance Khadima had been exposed to Todd’s… crazier side. But he had never seen her fear anyone as much as she did Todd. 

Not even… not even when  _ Damian _ had been the one to hurt her. 

**FLASHBACK**

_ “Hit her,” Mother ordered, her cold eyes fixed on him as he hesitated. In front of him was Khadima, kneeling with her eyes obediently trained on the ground. She had been with him since the beginning, and he found that with her in this vulnerable state, he did not  _ **_want_ ** _ to hit her.  _

_ Damian raised a trembling hand and lightly slapped her. Steel hands squeezed harshly around his wrist. “That’s. Not. How. You. Hit. Her.” Mother dragged him out of the way and stepped forward to take his place. He flinched at the noise that rang through the room as she hit Khadima harshly, sending her head careening towards the ground before she caught herself. There was a large mark on her cheek, but she didn’t even look up, eyes still downcast.  _

_ “Now, hit her properly or I will do so for you. For every time you force me to do your work, I shall double the punishment.” _

_ Damian stared at Khadima, glad that he didn’t have to look her in the eyes. He hardened his heart and numbed any feelings of guilt as he backhanded her with all his strength. He told himself that it was worth his Mother’s approval. “Again.”  _ **_Slap_ ** . _ “Again.”  _ **_Slap_ ** . _ “Again.”  _ **_Slap_ ** . __

_ It continued until Khadima didn’t catch herself. She lay on the floor, unconscious.  _

_ “You did well, Damian. I am very  _ **_proud_ ** _ of you.” Damian convinced himself it was all he needed.  _

___________________________________________________________________________

Damian crumpled to the ground, crippled by the sudden onslaught of the memory. He had been wrong to think he could just keep hurting her, even under Mother’s orders.

In truth, it was very rare for him to carry out his threats. It was weak of him, but he just couldn’t stomach her expressions. It was so much easier to have someone else do it. Someone like  _ Todd _ .

Damian’s attention shifted as he noticed his stuffed dog by the window. It was the one Grayson had given to him, which he had quickly expressed his displeasure in. And yet, he had been unable to throw it away. He had even given the damn thing a name - Amzi, for strength and might.

A stuffed animal, just like the one Khadima had clutched. Just like the one he had destroyed in his rage. It had surprised him how broken she looked when he attacked it. 

Damian brought a shaking hand to his katana, before gripping it tightly as he cut into Amzi, carving in the exact same slashes that he’d given to Khadima’s. The stuffing fell out and went ignored as Damian looked around for a sewing kit.

He carefully put it back together, stitching slowly and with precision. It was probably the most careful he’d ever been with anything, including himself. It took an hour or two, but eventually, he found himself looking at a fixed dog with neat stitches. Damian couldn’t help but feel  _ relieved _ \- if  _ he _ could do it, surely Khadima would be able to fix  _ her _ stuffed animal. 

His eyes flicked over to Amzi’s face. Its eyes looked sad, despite its happy face. It reminded him of  _ her _ .

Damian gave into the temptation to hug it, burying his face into its soft fur. He pretended that he was hugging Khadima instead, pretended that she had hugged  _ him _ with the same intensity that she’d clutched her koala with. Tears finally fell down his cheeks as he cried for what he’d lost. 

Why did he yell at her? Why did he push her away? He just… he just wanted her to stay with him, and now she was gone. 

“Please come back,” he whispered to the stuffed animal. “I’ll be better, I  _ promise. _ ” He pretended that Amzi was Khadima, giving him her reassurances as she smiled warmly. 

___ 

He didn’t know how long he stayed in that position, hugging the plush like it was the only thing that could keep him together. 

It was only a knock on the door that caused him to move, and he turned his head to find Grayson at the door. How long had he been standing there? It looked as though he’d been there since the beginning, considering the disinterest in his eyes at the scene unfolding before him.

Well… perhaps disinterest was the wrong word because Grayson’s eyes were completely blank. Familiar hatred welled up in him at the look, and he would have preferred anything - even judgment or hate - to those blank eyes. They were too similar to Khadima’s.

They continued to stare at each other as Damian valiantly attempted to hide his pain. His vision continued to get blurrier as Khadima’s betrayal continued to sink in. 

“...Was there a problem with the stuffed dog?” 

It was worded as a question but his face was still unsettlingly straight - there was no questioning eyebrow or quirk of the lips like Damian had gotten used to. 

“I messed up,” Damian blurted out, his voice cracking. Tears began to run down his cheeks and he furiously wiped them away.

Grayson’s face softened and he sighed. “Yeah, no shit. But at least you admitted it.”

“She’s not coming  _ back _ ,” he sobbed. Damian  _ hated _ how needy he sounded. 

Grayson sighed again, and then he held out his arms. “Look. I know you said that you only accepted the hug because you were compromised, but… do you think you could allow for one more? Human hugs are  _ much _ better than stuffed animal ones, even if stuffed hugs are a close second.”

Damian didn’t say anything - he just stood up and hugged Grayson tightly. He imagined it was his Father, the man he never got a hug from. He imagined it was his Mother, who rarely gave him the physical attention he desired. And lastly, he imagined it was Khadi - no -  _ Marinette _ who hugged him back. Hugged him as he cried desperately for her. Grayson was right. It was  _ much e _ asier to pretend with a real body.

___

It was that day Damian began to change. He needed to give Marinette a reason to come back and stay, after all. 

**Blooper (#smack the bats)** ****

_ Master Damian has gone  _ too far _ this time _ , Alfred thought as he shook his head. What he had done was unacceptable and could  _ not _ be allowed to go unpunished. He brought out his special weapon. A lesson would be taught today.

“Pennyworth, where is -” he was cut off as Alfred slapped him with a fly swatter. A mixture of indignation and shock filled his face as a confused, “ _ What -”  _ was met with another slap. 

“Master Damian, it seems as if there are some flies on your head that need swatting.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, there is not a  _ single _ -,” another swat.

“Ah, my apologies, I meant they are  _ in  _ your head, not on. Clearly, that must be the reason you did those  _ atrocious _ things earlier.”  _ Swat.  _

Master Damian at least managed to look guilty, but that did not stop the next swat from happening. “Pennyworth -,”  _ swat.  _

“We must make sure every fly leaves your head, and rest assured, I am the man for the job.”  _ Swat.  _

Damian was beginning to get annoyed. The swats didn’t hurt - honestly, they were more of a bothersome sting than anything else - but they were  _ distracting _ .

Alfred didn’t care.  _ Swat. _

The rest of the day was filled with swats every time Damian tried to speak. To this day he remains wary of flyswatters, and Alfred still likes to bring them out when he acts too cruelly. It was a story that brought joy to many, much to Damian’s chagrin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! My editor made a Tumblr meme account for this story! Please check it out! She'd also like to know if y'all want it in group format or individual 
> 
> Here: https://iwouldlikeonefamilyplease.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> I FINALLY DID ONE OF YOUR BLOOPERS AKUTEN YASS 
> 
> Okay, my editor wants to tell everyone to go take care of yourselves and eat smt if you need to. I say hydrate before you diedrate my dudes


	21. Rocks My Dude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING FOR VIOLENCE

Editor's note: Hey, so this chapter's going to have more graphic violence than usual. I know that I've already had a lot of violence, but skip from "'Are you seriously going to hit me with a-,” tragically, Stevedore never got to finish his sentence, because at that moment Marinette whacked him hard with Kuala." to "“What the FUCK are you doing?!”" if blood makes you squeamish. 

I would also like to take a moment and apologize to Kitty_noir, who wanted Mari to meet Owen, Pru, and Z. She did but um... well... let's just stick to I'm sorry. 

* * *

Marinette happily held up her newly fixed Kuala. There! Perfect! It was patchy and a little heavier than before, but it was fixed! It might even look a little better because of the embroidery she added!

The decorations weren’t very complex - they were just some simple line-stars and her initials in pink - but Marinette was proud of it. Embroidery turned out to be pretty fun when she got to play around, and it was a good way to forget about… earlier. Besides, she had to do _something_ other than sitting around. And she wasn’t allowed to drive. Which wasn’t fair since she _knew_ how to drive. She was also more awake than Drake was, or at least had gotten more hours of sleep. Drake currently looked like a maniac with the deep bags under his eyes and his intense expression. They had been very close to several car crashes, and at this rate, Marinette felt they’d die before un-deading her Father. Well, un-deading _Batman_ since no one knew Bruce Wayne was dead. Apparently, there was someone now parading around as Bruce Wayne. She’d say it was weird but it’d actually be weirder if her Father _didn’t_ have a plan for preventing a “Batman is Bruce Wayne!” reveal, especially since all his children were in on it.

Marinette wondered if she could meet this fake Father of hers. Would she be able to tell the difference? 

She shrugged it off. There was no point wondering now. She decided to play with Kuala instead, entertaining herself by giving the stuffed plush different voices. Maybe a girl’s voice would fit best? Or would a friendly male’s sound better? Maybe Kuala could have multiple different voices! 

Marinette was careful not to hug it too hard. Her injuries hadn’t recovered yet. 

____________________________________________________________________________

Drake had stopped the car some time ago and was now staring at her intensely. It’d be uncomfortable if not for how sleep-deprived he was. 

“Okay, Marinette. You have to be honest with me. How well can you fight?” She didn’t reply, unsure of how much information to give him. Being underestimated was an advantage she’d like to keep as long as possible. “…You _can’t_ tell me you don’t know how to fight. You were in the League of Assassins and your,” Drake grimaced, “…master… is a _d_ _emon_. There is _no_ way you don’t at _least_ know self-defense.” 

“…I am not at Damian’s level but I am proficient enough to keep up with you.” Drake nodded his head in approval. 

“That’s good, I’ll trust you on that.” It didn’t look like he believed that. Well, she hoped she’d never have to prove him wrong. “Now, I’m assuming you’ve been desensitized to violence by now?” 

“Of course.” 

“Perfect. Because to accomplish this mission, I’ll need to do things Bruce would _never_ do. We’re on a time limit, so if it means making sure a few hindrances _stay_ down instead of coming back for another round, then that’s what we’ll have to do. Are you with me?” Marinette hid a smile. She was _more_ than with him, this was a perfect way to satisfy the Lazarus inside her without hiding it. 

“I am willing to do whatever it takes if it means getting Master Bruce back.” 

“ _Good_.” 

They were finally on the same page. 

___________________________________________________________________________

Apparently, they were _not_ on the same page. Drake had her monitor for any big crime while he scoured the city for clues, occasionally fighting a group of enemies. This felt kind of unfair - she had _more_ than enough skill to fight, but he prevented her because of her age. Or, well, what he _assumed_ her age was. She didn’t bother to correct him - the fewer connections she had with Damian, the better. 

Marinette glared at the screens in front of her. She didn’t even get to watch him fight! She just had to listen to some people talking and _hope_ they said something useful. Which so far, they weren’t. They were just making these weird jokes about women and cats. She wasn’t even allowed to distract herself from it in case they were speaking in code! She’d much rather play with Kuala than do _t_ _his._

____________________________________________________________________________

She was now _banned_ from radio monitoring after Drake read what she recorded. It turned out that none of it was coded, it was just some really inappropriate speech. Hopefully, she’d be able to help him out in a different way, it would be better than doing nothing. 

Marinette snuggled under some blankets, wrapping her arms around Kuala. Even though radio monitoring had been boring, it had been tiring to stress over each word as if it were a possible code or symbol. She chose not to sleep, keeping a lazy eye on the window. She didn’t understand why Drake had chosen to leave it uncovered - it was dangerous. 

____________________________________________________________________________

Marinette watched the assassins below her, listening to them chat about killing Drake. She had noticed them the second they appeared, all three of them a shadow on the building across them. It was an amateur mistake, really, to have three people close when only one would suffice, or to waste time chatting instead of just making the kill. It made it easier for her to gather information though. 

They were from the League, assigned by her grandfather to kill Drake. Considering how long it had taken for them to take the shot, something was off. Either Ra’s underestimated Drake or _they_ were doing the underestimating. Either way, they had to be talented but still indispensable. A pity to lose but not a complete loss. Ra’s wouldn’t waste such resources on Drake, especially with the “minor issues” he was dealing with inside of the League. Marinette guessed - or rather hoped - it was another assassination attempt. She dreamed of a successful one so damaging that he couldn’t be revived. That’d be nice.

Marinette tried not to laugh as she heard the bald girl cockily remark how Batman was dead because his back-up sucked. She’d learn soon enough. And just for that, Marinette was going to give them all terrible nick-names. Her new name was now Wiggy, the sniper’s was Eyebrows, and the last one’s was Stevedore. She wouldn’t even _bother_ to learn what they called each other, it was probably a different alias for themselves anyways.

Judging from their interactions, Stevedore was the leader, which means that she’d have to take him out first. Good thing she had Kuala!

She watched as they focused on Drake, who was still in front of the window looking at random bits of evidence. She knew there was probably a reason for it, but she couldn’t help but agree with Wiggy that he looked like an idiot. No trained fighter stays off guard in front of a big open window. Her guess was he saw the gun but assumed he could just dodge it. Which would work if it was a gun and not a fricking _bazooka_.

As Eyebrows moved to shoot, she swung her feet back-and-forth in front of his face, effectively distracting them with the sudden movement. 

“Hi!” Marinette greeted, waving as they turned around. 

“Hi?” Eyebrows replied, looking confused. 

“...What are you doing here?” Stevedore asked, a mixture of confused and cautious. 

“Does it matter? We saw ‘er with the Bat backup earlier! Just get ‘er before she messes anything up!” Wiggy aimed her gun at her and Marinette casually dodged the bullet, still sitting like a duck.

“Well, that wasn’t very nice.” She jumped down, holding her plushie like a weapon. “I feel like I should make this a little fair.” 

Marinette rushed forward, dodging bullets using several acrobatic flips. She raised the arm clutching Kuala, preparing to attack. 

“Are you seriously going to hit me with a-,” tragically, Stevedore never got to finish his sentence, because at that moment Marinette whacked him _hard_ with Kuala. 

“What the _fuck,_ ” Wiggy and Eyebrows muttered in unison as they stared at their teammate, astonished. Stevedore was unconscious on the ground, blood leaking from his temple. 

Marinette turned her head sharply, staring with wide eyes at the remaining two as she tilted her head at an angle that she _knew_ was unnatural. “Come play with us,” she said, smiling creepily as she held up a blood-covered Kuala.

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the _fuck,_ I did _not_ sign up to deal with some Shining shit,” Eyebrows said to himself as he dropped the bazooka to pick up a gun. Mission accomplished. 

She grabbed Stevedore’s gun and shot at Wiggy, forcing her to dive to the right. The assassin rolled towards her, forwards and to the right. The barrel roll was well-executed, placing her right next to Marinette quickly, but even with her speed, the bald woman failed to dodge a strong hit from Kuala. 

With two down, she could feel the Lazarus Pit practically _singing_ with joy at the possibility of murder. 

Marinette made sure to haul Wiggy up, using her as a shield. Unless Eyebrows wanted to shoot through Wiggy, he couldn’t hit anything vital.

“Do you want to meet Kuala next?” She asked, taunting him.

“...Can ‘no’ be the answer?” 

“Well, of course! You can choose to spend time with an old friend instead~.” 

“Wha -,” Marinette thrust her arms forward, pushing Wiggy onto Eyebrows, who was still at the edge of the building. He rushed to grab her before she went over, and that’s when Marinette struck.

The second she knew that Eyebrows had a strong grip, and Wiggy wasn’t in danger of falling off the edge (cleaning up that type of mess would _suck)_ , she moved to shoot him. 

_Click!_

Marinette frowned at the gun. No ammo. Well, there were other ways to kill someone. 

Before Eyebrows could reach for his gun, she stomped on his hand and whacked his throat with her gun, causing him to choke and gurgle. Before he could recover, she hit him with Kuala. A quick check of the pulse told her he was dead. 

A smile crept on her face as she felt the _instant_ relief. She let herself enjoy the vision in front of her, blood dripping from Eyebrow’s head, his eyes blank and glossy. Beside him lay Wiggy, unreacting to the blood pooling onto her. The pressure to kill was temporarily gone.

It’d stay gone longer if she killed Wiggy. 

Marinette walked up to her, speeding up as she watched Wiggy’s eyes flutter. She was waking up. She decided to kill the assassin with Kuala - it was quieter.

“Sorry Wiggy~,” she said sweetly, staring into her unfocused eyes as she brought her arms down and - 

“What the FUCK are you doing?!” A tight grip stopped her from hitting Wiggy. The Lazarus wanted to growl in frustration. No! She was so _close_!

“I’m making sure they stay down,” she explained innocently as if she hadn’t just murdered someone. To be fair, she didn’t exactly know what she did wrong. Didn’t he say they were going to do things Batman never did? 

“You’re _killing_ them.” Drake retorted, dressed in his “dark suit”. Oh. Was she… _not_ supposed to do that? Whoops.

“No! I’m just… playing with them! It doesn’t kill people to hit them with plushies, right?” 

“It does if that plushie is filled with _rocks._ ” 

“Well, what else were we going to use as stuffing?” 

“Well if I had _known_ how you were going to use the plushie I wouldn’t have -” Drake shook his head - “Wait! No! You’re _distracting me_. I had the situation handled, you didn’t have to -” 

“Master Drake, they were going to shoot us with a _bazooka_. How would you have handled _that_?” 

“...Well, okay, I didn’t _know_ it was a bazooka, but that still doesn’t explain why you _fucking killed someone_!”

“...They’re assassins. They’re trained to keep going no matter how well they’ve been restrained. The best way to get them to stay down is to kill them.” 

“...Are you sure that’s the only way?” 

Marinette tilted her head to the side like she actually needed to think about this. “Well… you could _also_ paralyze them or chop off their limbs. But there’s always a chance they’ll somehow heal everything or get replacements and come back for revenge.” The Lazarus Pits came to mind. 

“Marinette, we’re _not_ chopping their limbs off _or_ paralyzing them. When I said to keep them down, I meant breaking a few bones so they’d take longer to recover, _not_ permanently crippling them.” Oh. Well, this was _definitely_ a mistake.

“But an assassin _could_ recover from that. And then we’d be making another passionate enemy that we don’t need.” 

“Yeah well, what’s new about that? Batman’s been doing that for _years_ and he’s _probably_ alive and kicking.” 

Marinette just sighed. “Fine, have it your way. Broken limbs only if you’re _that_ adamant about causing yourself the trouble later.” 

She stomped on Wiggy’s wrist, causing her to scream as the bone crunched. 

“Again, what the _fuck.”_ Marinette stomped on the other wrist before she looked up at him. 

“She uses guns. That'll stop her from that. Besides, she said we were _incompetent_. I just want to prove otherwise.”

“...You have issues.” 

“Clearly.” 

He paused, staring off into space before saying, “I don’t know how to process this.” 

Marinette just shrugged. “Then don’t. I’m _tired_ , and I have to give Kuala a bath. If you don’t want me to kill, then I won’t.” Well, in front of him, anyway. “I’m not sure what you were expecting, I’m still from the League of Assassins.” 

“... Fair enough. Just don’t kill again. Life matters, no matter how bad that life is.” _Not mine,_ she thought. 

“...I’ll be sure to remember that, Master Drake.” The Lazarus inside her said otherwise. 

____________________________________________________________________________

Marinette cleaned the mess while Drake was distracted by the communication device the three assassins had on them. It led directly to her grandfather - Drake was currently talking to him while she pretended not to listen in.

Drake had banned her from breaking any more limbs - wow, she was getting banned from a _lot_ of stuff today - so she just tied Wiggy and Stevedore using _painfully_ tight knots. …She couldn’t promise that the bad blood circulation wouldn’t do damage. At least they were still alive. 

Apparently, Ra’s wanted to _help_ Drake find her Father. That was weird. She was glad that Drake rejected it. She didn’t think Ra’s would spill the beans, but the less risk the better. 

Whatever. She was _forcing_ Drake to sleep before any more crazy stuff happened. 

____________________________________________________________________________

~Random Scene~ 

“To do what we need to do, I must no longer be associated with Batman. I cannot tarnish his name like that.” Drake pulled out a red outfit with a cross on it. “I must be… RED X.” 

“... No.” 

“What do you mean ‘no’?!” 

“I mean, _why_ would you _ever_ dress in bright red when black or dark blue would help you blend in more?” She also would’ve questioned where the heck he got the suit but she had her assumptions. 

“... I want to spite Damian by being Robin without technically being Robin.” 

“...That’s fair but I’m still getting you a logically-colored suit. I think it’d be easier to spite Damian if you actually stay _alive._ ”

“...Fine. Just so you know, I blame the sleep deprivation for any poor decisions I make.” 

“Okay, then sleep.” 

“No.” 

Drake was about to get _drugged_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What up! Sorry for those of you who commented and I didn't respond, I'm currently dying from school. 
> 
> ...I should not have written this. Why am I so impulsive when it comes to writing 
> 
> Anyways! My writing might be sporadic for a while after this. I've been trying to write like once a week but I don't think I can do that and keep on top of everything else. So! I'll try to write but no promises! 
> 
> Thank you _so much_ for those who keep commenting. Those of you who said that you were crying in the last chapter - you're valid and I love you. I mean really I love every single comment, they really make my day. 
> 
> Lmao if it motivates you, each comment or kudo is a hug for Mari because Mari needs hugs. Have a nice day and drink water


	22. Road Trip/Random Moment Vibes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Btw I'm most familiar with Young Justice Kon so uh... yeah 
> 
> Heh, Happy Valentine's Day~ Thank you to my 7th/8th-grade math teacher who hated this holiday so much that he literally went on a rant about how it was a "commercial holiday" every time it came up. He's not wrong, I just think it's funny.

To her surprise, it didn’t take much to lure Drake to the bed. Maybe it was the shock, maybe it was the fact that he looked half-ready to collapse, but the second he made contact with the mattress, he didn’t get back up. He just lied there, eyes fluttering between sleep and consciousness in a robe lazily tied on to hide his costume. She inwardly celebrated, she didn’t even have to drug him this time! 

Marinette worked silently, adjusting her mattress to cover the window and a closet to block the door. Even if neither stopped the attackers, it’d give them time to respond to the threat. She looked for the best vantage point, ready to spend the night alert and vigilant. 

She prepared to sit on top of the night drawer but relocated at the sound of Drake mumbling.

“You know, I thought you were Bruce’s kid at first. You just… you... look a  _ lot _ like him. Blue eyes, black hair, serious face, and I  _ swear _ I saw a picture of his mom that looked like you. But you can’t be his, right? Cause Bruce would’ve known if you were. He’s Mr. Paranoid, there was no way he didn’t do a blood test or something after Damian happened...” Marinette held her breath, praying for Drake to fall asleep before he made any damaging connections. 

There was a moment of silence, and she assumed he had succumbed to sleep until he continued to mumble again, even quieter than before. “After today I don’t think you’re Bruce’s. You reminded me of someone else, actually.” She nearly startled as an eye sleepily opened. “You reminded me of Jason.” It was slurred but the name still left her heart pounding. Drake seemed to be oblivious, turning the other way before he passed out. She gave him a weak glare as she sunk down to the floor. 

She was  _ nothing  _ like Jason. 

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

She didn’t know why, but the previous mention of Father now distracted her from her current duty. She felt overwhelmed, filled with all the worries and fears that she had kept at bay for the past few weeks. Her throat felt clogged and for some reason, her heart was hurting. 

Marinette swiftly moved her hand to check for any injuries but there were none. So why was she in so much pain? 

A thought flashed by, the answer to her confusion: her Father died without knowing the truth. Marinette covered her mouth to prevent herself from the whimper that threatened to come out. 

To her horror, salty water dripped down her face faster than she could wipe away.  _ Stop it. This is not the time to drop your guard.  _ She told herself. But when was it? When could she  _ ever _ let herself feel like this? 

The sniffles came next, they weren’t particularly loud but every single one felt as loud as a gunshot. Was that sniffle the one that’d wake up Drake and expose her? 

She’d never be able to tell her Father, she realized. Even with all the pain in knowing he could die again before she said anything, Marinette still couldn’t change things. The problems remained the same. 

So she broke-down, thoughts racing as uncontrolled as her tears. She cried for the man who couldn’t love her, the Father she couldn’t have. She cried because she knew the moment she saw Jason that this life wouldn’t end happily for her. Her Father would choose her or Jason and it’d never be her. 

Marinette cried because now, awake in a building full of sleeping people, she finally processed what happened. Damian had looked at her with a coldness she had never seen before and hurt her in a way she couldn’t easily forgive. Not like before. But what could she do other than forgive? 

She cried because in ensuring Damian would always have someone, she cried alone. Sobbing quietly in the dark so she wouldn’t notify anyone of her pain. 

Her heart felt like it had been torn in pieces. It felt like it was bleeding and it’d never heal. She pushed her face against Kuala, seeking comfort. 

  
  


There was none given. 

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

They had been driving for hours now with no issue. It was a moment of peace and Mariette felt lighter than she had in weeks. Sleep had taken her the second they were on the road now that Drake could drive without nearly crashing every five seconds. 

“Do you remember when you reminded me that friends exist?” Drake asked. 

“Yes?”

“Do you have any friends? I’ve never seen you contact any but if you have them you should.” 

Flashes of round blue eyes and dark skin came to mind. Quiet laughter and warm nights. “...I had friends.” 

Drake shifted nervously. He hoped that didn’t mean they died. “What happened to them?” 

“I don’t know.” Drake gestured to her, silently asking for her to elaborate. “They fled the League at least a year before we were taken to the manor. We have no way of contacting each other.” 

“...Well do you have an idea of where they went?” 

“They mentioned Paris, but I’m unsure of whether they stayed there.” 

Drake jolted in realization. “Wait, is Marinette your real name?” 

She shook her head, confused. “It is not. Why do you ask?” 

“Well, Marinette is a French name. It didn’t fit the League since their main language is Arabic.” He paused. “What’s your birth name then?” 

“Khadima,” she grimaced. 

Drake’s eyes widened. “Doesn’t that mean…” 

“Yes. It means exactly that.” 

“Ah, so that’s where you got your naming skills from,” he joked weakly. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, you named your stuffed koala the Arabic version of "koala". And now you’re telling me your parents named you your profession. Is that a tradition or something?”

“...I’ll attempt to be creative with the next thing I name.” 

Drake snorted. “No no, don’t let me stop you from naming things  _ however _ you want.” 

“Ah, if it’s by what I want, I’ll name the next thing after you.” 

“...you’re going to name something Drake or Tim?” 

“No, I’ll name it Mr. No Life or Sleep Deprived.” 

“...Didn’t we already have this discussion? I  _ have  _ friends.” 

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

Drake glanced at his phone, muttering about someone named Kon. A partner of his? 

“...You know what, I think I’ll stick to the unhealthy habit of not telling my friends anything. Anyways, why don’t you name it Coffee?

Marinette rolled her eyes. “We’ll see.” 

Drake rolled his eyes back. “Well, at least your  _ new _ name isn’t as bad as your  _ other _ names.”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Why didn’t you join your friends?” It was out of the blue, but Marinette knew exactly what he was talking about. 

Her smile was bitter. “Duty came first. I could not leave Damian.” 

Drake was quiet. That was the answer he’d expected, but it was sad nonetheless. “...What were their names?” 

Large brown eyes, gold decor, and protective glances danced before her eyes. Marinette smiled. “The first one was Zil. He was a child of two high-ranking members and my… first friend.”

“What was he like?” 

Her smile grew soft as she thought of fond memories. “He was like a stick bug in a bundle of wood. From afar he seemed like everyone else in the League, but in reality, he was far from what the League wanted.” 

“...So he was like Damian’s opposite?” 

“Not exactly. He still had the same uptight attitude all children of high-ranks are trained to have.” 

“...But?” 

“He was kind and trusting. He went out of his way to become my friend despite the difference in ranking.” 

“Did the ranking matter that much?” 

“As a servant, he was not to interact with me at all. It might have been easier if I was a regular one, but as the sole servant of Damian, the opportunity to interact with me was rare.” 

“So how did you guys become friends then?” 

“He had his ways.”

~

_ “Hey, you! Come over here!” A voice whispered in an empty hallway. Khadima stopped - confused - before she caught a glimpse of two wide eyes peeking out from behind a wall. _

_ “Me?” She asked. What did this person want with her? She cautiously walked towards the eyes, wary of a possible trap.  _

_ “Yeah, you! What’s your name?” Khadima relaxed at the genuine curiosity in his voice. A stupid move.  _

_ “Why does it matter?” She asked. Suddenly, a hand-pulled her into an empty room. Khadima moved to defend herself, but the boy in front of her just backed off. He looked around her age but his clothes showed that he outranked her. Uh-oh. He looked irritated, with his arms crossed.  _

_ “It matters because I asked! Don’t make me repeat myself. What’s your name?”  _

_ “Khadima.”  _

_ The irritation melted into a warm grin. “My name is Zil.”  _

_ “What do you want?”  _

_ His demeanor changed, he looked more nervous. “Well… I uh, saw that you look a little lonely sometimes. You just feel like you um… need someone. I kind of thought that we could be friends... if you want.”  _

_ Friends!! Someone wanted to be friends with her! Khadima was  _ **_ecstatic_ ** _. A part of her warned to be rational - a servant could never be friends with someone this high-ranking - but it barely registered over the poorly-contained enthusiasm. _

**_“_ ** _ I would  _ **_love_ ** _ to be your friend.”  _

_ The grin was back at full force. “Then I guess we’ll have to find ways to meet.”  _

\---

_ Every moment they could, they met up in that empty room, or one of their own rooms if they were feeling brave. The days felt warm and colorful, and Khadima questioned how she had ever lived before then. Even when the late-night talks ate away at the last of her sleep, she wouldn’t give it up for the world.  _

_ And when Mudamira came, the happy duo became a happy trio.  _

~

“What the actual fuck. That’s  kind of  _cute_. Zil kind of reminds me of my friend, he can be kind of awkward too.”

“Hmm, interesting. I’ll make sure to take note of your fake friend.” 

“...I’m just going to ignore that for now. What about your other friend?” 

“My other friend was named Mudamira, although her original name was Kore before she joined the League.”

“Joined? Not born into?” 

Marinette shook her head. “Her parents were targets of the League. Her witness to their murders meant she either had to die or join the League as a servant.” 

“Do all witnesses get that choice?” 

“No, only children with potential. They’re useful and easier to manipulate.” 

“...I’m not sure you can count someone as a friend if you’re constantly manipulating them.” 

“Well, we didn’t start off as friends. She was just a target with potential.” 

“How’d you become friends then?” 

~

_ Khadima walked into the target’s house. The room was in disarray and bodies were strewn everywhere. That would be normal if it were only victims. However, the bodies of the assassins in charge laid there as well. _

_ She examined the bodies. This didn’t make sense, there should have been one victor here.  _ **_Someone_ ** _ should be alive.  _

_ Khadima paused. Did she just hear a noise?  _

_ The distinct feeling of pain confirmed that yes, she **did** in fact hear something.  _

_ She moved to the right as a katana swung again, slicing through muscle and fabric. Khadima barely grimaced, grabbing her own katana to parry the next strike. The girl in front of her was short, even shorter than her, with a snarl on her face. Her attacker reminded Khadima of an animal, choppy and vicious movements that seemed almost out of instinct. There was no hesitation and no thought of mercy even when facing another child. Khadima couldn’t help but be fascinated by the complete lack of regard for her other injuries, how the girl was moving like they didn’t exist.  _

_ She could see how this girl may have killed the others.  _

_ Well, two could play this game. Khadima slashed at any opening she saw until her attacker was on the ground, whimpering in pain. Blood painted the ground as she aimed her katana under the girl’s throat, leaving her no choice but the surrender. Dopamine rushed through her brain at this feeling. She always loved how powerful she felt in these moments. She was the reason someone lived or died, not the victim.  _

_ Then she really  **looked** at her victim.  _

_ A child, around her age. Her blonde hair was long, messy, and mesmerizing. She wore mostly brown with pink designs and jewelry. Everything was stained in blood.  _

_ As she looked down at the other girl, she just looked like a scared animal instead of a violent creature. Khadima… wasn’t approaching this right.  _

_ What would Damian do? He knew how to deal with wild animals.  _

_ She lowered her katana and relaxed her stance. She needed to look more open and small. Damian got animals to trust him by showing them trust. She needed to look vulnerable and soft.  _

_ “...Hello. My name is Khadima. What’s your name?” She asked, imitating Zil. _

_ The girl stared at her, wary. “...My name is Kore,” she croaked out. Khadima inwardly panicked, what could she say after that?  _

_ “You’re skilled at fighting,” she blurted out.  _

_ She wanted to slap herself but stopped when she saw Kore’s face light up. “Do you really think so?” She asked. Then her face dropped. “But - but I wasn’t skilled enough, my parents are dead.”  _

_ Khadima questioned that logic. Wouldn’t that reflect the skill of her parents more than her? It wasn’t like Kore was assigned to protect her own parents, that’d be silly.  _

_ “You still managed to survive. That’s impressive in and of itself.”  _

_ “Are you going to kill me?”  _

_ “It depends - will you join the League of Assassins?”  _

_ “...They just  **killed** my  _ parents _.” _

_ “They did, but where else can you go?”  _

_ “What’ll happen if I join?”  _

_ “You’ll be a servant, like me.”  _

_ “So I’ll see you again? I won’t just be forced into a group of strangers?” Hmm, if that was what she was afraid of, Khadima could easily make time for her if it meant winning over her loyalty. Kore was a talented fighter, perhaps she could be useful in protecting Damian. _

_ “No. Child servants like us have classes to attend so we can see each other there. And if you want, I can spend time with you to help you adjust to your new living situation. You might even be able to meet my friend, he’s really nice and I think he’d like you.” It was risky bringing up her secret relationship with Zil, but Kore needed someone like him.  _

_ “...I’ll accept then, as long as you stay with me.”  _

_ “I will.”  _

_ _ _ _  _

_ It was a difficult promise to keep. While Khadima was destined to stay a servant no matter her skill, Kore was not the same.  _

_ While most servants stayed servants - especially those of the female gender - Kore’s talent in fighting was too strong to ignore. She was promoted to the ranks of an assassin, where she took classes with Zil. Her name was changed to Mudamira, a way of cutting off her past and swearing her loyalty to the League.  _

_ It was lonely without Mudamira. Khadima had grown used to her constant presence in a few of her classes, it didn’t feel the same without her. She was happy though, as Zil and Mudamira’s bond grew strong, and they became a trio. Laughing the night away with the happiest stories they could tell in their cold environment.  _

_ ~ _

“They sound like good friends.” 

“They were.” Marinette looked out the window, wistful. “Mudamira was a bright star with her optimism and love, while Zil was calming in his loyalty and protective nature. Neither was fit for this life, I just hope that they survived their attempt to leave.”

She was lurched out of her thoughts by the parking of the car. “Master Drake, why did you-” 

“Marinette, they survived,” Drake reassured her, looking her in the eyes. “If they were as capable as you said they were, they made it. I’m sure they’re enjoying croissants and macarons in Paris or something.” 

Marinette just smiled, unable to let herself believe that. “Thank you, Tim.” 

“Anytime.” 

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Marinette watched in silent confusion as Drake randomly froze in the middle of walking, doubling back to look at her. He walked forward and grabbed her hair. What the heck? 

“Marinette, do you have white hair?” It was Marinette’s turn to freeze. The last few weeks had been so busy that she completely forgot to re-dye her hair.

“Yes! Well… sort of? I was playing with dye in case we needed it for a future disguise.” 

Drake looked at her, unimpressed. “Are you sure? Because this looks real to me.” 

“...It’s genetics.” She wasn’t sure how common it was for ten-year-olds to have white hair, but hopefully neither did he.

“...then why did you lie the first time?” Crap. 

She pretended to look sheepish. “I was… embarrassed because only old people have real white hair.” She rocked back-and-forth like she was stressed. “Can we go to the store for some black dye?” 

Drake looked at her but clearly did not have the energy to further question her. “...Yeah alright, we’ll go to the store tomorrow. But I think you should keep the white, it looks kind of cool.” 

She made a face. “That’d make me look distinguishable. That’s bad!”

“...You have the longest hair I’ve ever seen and half the time you wear clothes that are way too professional for someone your age. There is _no_ _way_ you’re worried about how distinguishable you are.”

Marinette shrugged. “Those are things that I can change quickly though. It’s easy to swap clothes and change hair lengths or styles. White hair would be  _ much _ harder to hide.” 

“All you have to do is wear a hat or something. How much white hair could you have?” Marinette just smiled and shrugged at him. In truth, she had been in the Lazarus so many times that her hair was completely white. But he didn’t need to know that. 

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Tim sat in his chair, contemplating over what he just saw. First, Marinette had killed and ruthlessly injured multiple assassins in the same way Jason would, and now there was evidence that she had white hair as he did. It could just be a coincidence but it felt like there was something more… 

If only he could figure out what. 


	23. I Spy A Commenter~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some good ol' fluff!

They were in Paris, the city of love and the possible home of her only friends. She wished she could stay here and look for them… if only they weren’t on a time-sensitive mission. Still, something told her that she’d be back. Paris  _ called _ to her. Marinette feared what that meant for her and Damian’s relationship.

* * *

Tim was a little nervous. He tried to hide it, but she could tell. It wasn’t very obvious, but he had his eye on her more often than he usually did. Marinette didn’t understand why, it wasn’t like he was sending her anywhere  _ dangerous _ . They were just separating in a shopping center. It was a populated area with security. If she got hurt here, she’d be a disgrace to her training. 

“Here. You’ll be fine by yourself, right? I’ll still check in on you every so often to make sure you’re safe, though,” Tim said, handing her a small earpiece. He gestured to a few tiny buttons. “If you can’t make noise, you press the red button three times. The blue one is to turn on your speaker so you can respond to me if I call you. If you can’t say anything because people will notice, just leave it on for a few seconds so I know you can hear me.” Marinette just looked at him, confused. Why did he need to check in on her? She could handle herself for a day! 

Tim looked back at her with uncertainness. “You’ll be fine, right? I was fine following Batman at night when I was eight so this should be okay.” …How was he not  _ dead _ . Marinette considered reminding him of her capabilities, but having a communication device  _ would  _ be useful. What if Tim needed help with the groceries?

The last time Tim had cooked, he had made the both of them instant noodles. Marinette refused to eat any of this “instant food” more than necessary. They were an insult to her rank as a servant and they’d be the future killer of both of them if the two of them followed Tim’s eating style. No, Marinette would wear the headset and pray to whatever god there was that Tim would contact her for help. Otherwise, she’d have to waste time with  _ another _ shopping trip, and their time was limited. 

Marinette took the earpiece. “I’ll be  _ fine _ . I’ll contact you if I need help if you do the same.”

“I promise,” Tim smiled, clearly humoring her. Marinette didn’t even bother rolling her eyes. It’d be wasted energy.

* * *

Marinette found herself in a local pharmacy called  ~~ Walgreen’s ~~ Walred’s. She didn’t really understand why a pharmacy had hair dye, but it was convenient so there was no point in complaining. 

There was a decent range of colors - red, blue, green, pink, etc. but she was only there for one color: black. If only she could decide which brand was best…

Suddenly, a hand reached out from the edge of her vision. Marinette flinched, and stepped back, revealing a blonde teen in front of her. How did she not see her before?

“Hey!!” the teen grinned exuberantly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you!!!! I’m just grabbing some dye!!!!!” She proceeded to grab two boxes, one with neon pink dye and another with electric blue. It reminded her of a unicorn, or at least the unicorn Mudamira had once described. She said her unicorn had a pink and blue mane. Marinette mused over the idea of a unicorn dying its mane. Or this teen being a secret unicorn. “I saw you eyeing the black dyes over there. I think you should join the pink and blue team, it’s much more fun,” she said, winking playfully at Marinette. Marinette eyed the dyes. If she were to choose a different color, it’d  _ never  _ be blue or pink. Maybe green… for Damian.

As the teen walked away, Marinette noticed she had a bundle of strangely perfect carrots sticking out of her bag. Did the pharmacy have a vegetable section as well? How odd.

Or maybe… the blonde was a unicorn after all!

Marinette snickered to herself, amused by the outlandish idea. If only Mudamira was here… she  _ definitely _ could have convinced her if Zil helped as well. 

Perhaps in another universe, they would have been together right now. In a universe where Damian wasn’t her everything. 

* * *

Tim walked into a small, cozy toy shop filled to the brim with stuffed animals. It hadn’t been his intention to shop here - his original plan was to just buy what they needed. But, when the shop caught his eye, he couldn’t help but think of Marinette and how devastated she had been when that absolute terror had viciously ripped into her beloved Kuala.  ~~ He ignored the very traumatizing memory of the other thing Marinette had done with her plushie. ~~

#####  So here he was, scouring the shop for something Marinette might like. Tim was tempted to buy the first thing he saw, but she deserved a bit more thought than that. It felt like a hopeless task, though. He didn’t know her that well, so how would he know what she liked? 

The choices were almost overwhelming. The choices ranged from large pink bears to tiny turquoise turtles. None of them felt right, but what would? 

Unbeknownst to him, an adorable, tiny floating poof-ball in a green beanie with earflaps and a pom-pom watched over him, hidden among the stuffed animals. They knew Tim’s goal, and they knew  _ exactly  _ what they wanted Marinette to have. 

They flew behind two specific stuffed animals, drawing his attention by increasing the light they were emitting. It may seem a bit suspicious, but they doubted Tim would see them as anything more than an interesting light.

“… A platypus and a… something.” Tim muttered, looking at the poof-ball’s two choices. He looked at the label it held. “Ah, a sky bison. Some fictional animal from a show.” Well, Tim thought, they were better than anything he had come up with so far. Platypuses were from Australia, like koalas, so they could be a matching thing and the… sky bison… looked comfortable. It’d be a good pillow for the long car rides. 

He quickly purchased it, unaware of the poof-ball that followed him as he walked out of the store. 

“Hey Marinette, where are you? I have a gift you might like.”

* * *

It didn’t take long for them to meet, both of them with objects in hand. Tim felt a fond smile grow as he saw Marinette. She was brimming with excitement and curiosity, although she tried hard to hide it. It was a new expression, a sharp contrast to her closed-off and sarcastic nature. Tim could count on one hand the times he saw her act differently, and half of those instances were pretty bad.

“What’s in the bag?” She asked, eyes on the bag as if it’d tell her if she focused hard enough. 

“Guess.” 

“...a weapon to defend myself?” 

“I saw what you did with Kuala, you don’t  _ need  _ another weapon. Guess again.” 

“A winter jacket?” 

“Closer but no.” Marinette continued to stare at it, confused. …Was it really not that obvious? 

He reached in, pulling out the flying bison. “Don’t turn these into weapons, alright?” 

Marinette snorted. “I’ll try not to.” Tim handed it to her and watched as her face lit up. It was on the bigger side, dwarfing her head, but she looked at it like it was  _ perfect.  _ Marinette pressed her face against it and hummed in delight.

“Thank you. I will cherish it,” she said, a small smile on her face. 

“Good, because it’s not the only one I got you.” Tim pulled out the platypus plushie.

“You got me two?!” 

“Yep! Here you-” He paused mid-way through handing it to her, choking back laughter. He just realized that the platypus was nearly her size. “Actually, maybe we should put these in the car. They look a bit hard to carry around-” 

“No! I want to keep them.” Tim looked at the platypus, the sky bison, and the determined face of a very tiny girl. 

“...Are you  _ sure _ you can carry them? What if you accidentally lose them or something?” 

“I won’t lose them! Kuala needs friends! I don’t want their first impression of me to be leaving them in the car by themselves.” Tim wasn’t going to question it. This was probably a weird little kid thing. If she wanted to bring the stuffed animals around, he wouldn’t fight her on it. Worst case scenario, she called him later to give her access to the car. 

“So what are you going to name them?” 

“Well, you got me two, which means I can name one Mr. No Life and the other Sleep Depr-” 

“No! As the giver of the gifts, I get full veto power. And  _ that _ means you’re not allowed to name them after me unless that name is coffee.”

“Fine, I’ll name this one Bungalow,” she said, raising up the sky bison. 

“…Bungalow?” 

“It’s an interesting word! I like how it sounds. Are you going to veto that name as well?” 

“No, I just think it’s funny that you’re giving such weird names. But if you want to keep it weird, be my guest.” 

“Fine! I’ll name the platypus a boring name like Ti-” 

“You better not say Tim or Timothy.” 

“...no. I was going to say Terrence.” 

“...Terrence.” 

“Is there something wrong with that?” She asked, a smirk on her lips. Were eight-year-olds always this sassy? He didn’t remember being this way. 

“You know what? Sure. Have fun with your very normally-named stuffed animals. I’m going to actually buy groceries now.” 

“Have fun, Coffeeman.” 

“Hah! You say it like an insult but I have no shame in buying thirty pounds of coffee beans.” 

“I hope you like the taste of sleeping drugs,” Marinette retorted. 

“...I’m starting to think  _ you’re _ the true Demonspawn.” 

“At least come up with another name, weren’t you the one critiquing my naming skills?” 

“Evil Bean it is.” Tim chuckled as he walked away. He could practically  _ feel  _ the fake irritation. 

Neither of them noticed the happy little poof-ball floating above Marinette. 

* * *

Tim paused in the middle of his walk. He  _ swore  _ he saw something orange flash by. He looked around for any sign of an attacker but only laid eyes on a random carrot. It was weirdly perfect, completely straight with no bumps or marks. What did this mean? Was he just being paranoid? 

* * *

Marinette walked into a near-empty craft and fabric store. She was quite a sight, with Terrence on her back and Bungalow held tightly in her arms. 

She wasn’t sure what she wanted, but meandering around shops usually allowed her to find something useful. 

_ _ _ 

At least an hour had passed, and she had found nothing. Well, nothing but a couple of aesthetically perfect carrots and a very cheap pack of scrunchies. The carrots seemed to pop up at random, obscured by other products, on top of shelves, and in-between fabrics. It was kind of like a scavenger hunt, but Marinette had never heard of scavenging for carrots. 

She studied the young adult at the counter. She looked weirdly happy for someone working in retail, a bright smile on her face, looking up at a seemingly-random corner of the room. Marinette followed her gaze but she saw nothing but a yellow light. Strange. 

Her name tag said “Schrodinger”, which was a weird name but well… it’s not like Marinette could judge. The woman’s brown hair was in a messy bun, her eyes on a stuffed animal in front of her. Her eyes reminded her of Grayson, they were the same shade and held the same warmth. Schrodinger looked down, reaching for a lamb plushie. It was cute but Marinette didn’t understand why it was there. Did adults still have stuffed animals? 

She gasped in shock as the woman reached  _ inside _ the plushie, pulling out a pen. Inspiration hit, she had the  _ perfect  _ idea. 

Terrence was about to get a makeover. 

_ _ _

Marinette sat outside with a pair of scissors, fabric, string, a needle, magnets, and several pieces of cardboard. She paid no attention to the pedestrians around her as she carefully cut into Terrence’s jugular. Hopefully, this didn’t count as turning Terrence into a weapon, otherwise, Tim might be mad at her again.

…Maybe she should hide this from him just in case.

Worst-case scenario, if he checks for any adaptations, she gives him Bungalow and hopes that it wards him off of any suspicions.

_ _ _

Marinette held up her finished product in triumph. Done at last! Terrence was now a backpack, his long arms connected with velcro to form a strap. His head faced inwards so that it’d be harder to see the separation between his head and body, held together by magnets sewn into the platypus. They were strong enough to hold unless she  _ really _ tried to pull it off. Tim wasn’t one to pay attention to anything once he had his focus on something, so she wasn’t particularly worried about him finding out. She had placed the cardboard inside, shaping it to resemble a small box, with the cover glued to the head. The fluffing she had left inside made it hard to notice, just like how she intended. 

Marinette stood up, cleaning her mess before she nagged Tim to get some food. 

Hmm? When did a carrot get there? 

* * *

Marinette was shocked. Tim had  _ actually _ planned a place to eat  _ before _ she even  _ mentioned  _ food. Were his self-preservation instincts finally kicking in? Was he becoming more mature now that Alfred wasn’t here? Did her forceful nature put an end to his bad hab - Tim dropped a case full of files onto the table. She sighed. Of course not. He only expressed an interest in eating for a case.

“This is the perfect place to watch out for this new group of bombers called the Red Stripe. Word on the web is that they’re planning to plant a few bombs around here, so watch out for these people.” Tim pulled out pictures and Marinette stared at the faces, intent on memorizing them. 

“And here I was thinking that you actually took an interest in eating.” 

“Well, this  _ is  _ a nice place for spotting bombers and eating  _ does  _ make us look less suspicious but… it’s a mall. Out of the dozens of options, who ever said we had to stay at a sushi restaurant?” 

“I never thought I’d see the day where  _ you’re _ the first to participate in eating.” 

“Well, don't get used to it. This is only for the mission and  _ possibly _ my love for sushi.” Marinette would have to study what he ate - it’d be easier to get him to eat if it was something he liked. 

“What do you suggest?” 

“It depends - do you like raw fish or cooked fish?” 

~Time Skip!~  Because I doubt anyone cares about their actual orders. I’m just gonna go with Lion King and California rolls because they’re my favorite.

“Got one,” Tim whispered, eyes on one Red Stripe out of her view. She nodded at him as he slipped away, blending with the crowd as he followed the man. 

After a few minutes, Mariette saw one as well. He was standing near a fountain, reaching for something in his bag. She pulled out a new pair of chopsticks. There were too many people in this mall for her to fight without suspicion, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t do her part to stop the bombers. 

A few flicks of the wrist and the man was pinned to the wall. Whether the chopsticks had penetrated his clothes or his flesh was the problem of the janitor and multiple therapists. Marinette gave a quick mental apology to them, blood was annoying to wash out, and the chopstick marks wouldn’t help.

Another man came in, confused to find his partner stuck by chopsticks. It didn’t take long for him to join the first.

The third was smarter, unfortunately. He somehow caught on that Marinette was the one doing the throwing.  _ Heck _ . There was  _ no way _ to hide the oddity of a ten-year-old fighting a grown man. 

Lucky for her, he was the stereotypical muscular man, which meant that running full speed at a little girl had  _ bad _ implications.

She started screaming the moment he touched her.

The man jerked back in shock as she started crying, pointing at him with one hand and Bungalow in the other. All eyes were on them. 

“Th-that man just grabbed me! He’s a st-stranger! Someone help me!” She wailed, her voice shaky. She forced herself to look terrified, whimpering as she made herself smaller. The man’s eyes widened in realization before he growled, reaching out to hit her. 

“No!” A voice yelled as she shrieked, preparing herself for the blow. Multiple adults raced over, holding him back before he could lay a finger on her. “I hope you spend a long time in jail, buddy.” A guy grunted out, dragging him away with the help of a few others.

Marinette watched as the other bombers backed away, only to be met with Red X. He gave them a chilling glare that caused them to freeze before one  _ very _ stupid bomber threw the first punch. It went downhill from there. 

_ _ _ 

Marinette giggled as she saw a black cat charge in as well, scratching at one of the bombers. It seemed to be an intelligent one, dodging any attempt of rebuttal. She paused as she looked at the wall. Where two men had originally been, now there were four. Two attacked by chopsticks and the other two by… carrots. Who was  _ doing _ this? 

* * *

Marinette shivered from the biting cold, then forced herself to focus on her self-appointed mission.

She was wandering around the city, hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever kept leaving her carrots. Marinette was pretty sure it was the teen from earlier but… why? Why stalk her just to leave carrots around? Their interaction hadn’t lasted longer than five seconds, and nothing said had been particularly impactful. So far the carrot stalker had done nothing wrong, but she was starting to feel anxious. Why couldn't she catch the teen? What if she upped her antics once she realized that Marinette couldn’t stop her?

Suddenly, she stopped. What… what was she feeling? Her eyes slowly wandered to a dark alley next to her. It felt like every cell in her body yearned to go inside. Was the mischievous blonde in there?

Marinette edged slowly towards the alley, pausing as she reached the entrance. It was like there was a thin wall in front of her, one that she couldn’t see. She pressed forward. 

Warmth. 

Marinette gave an inward hum of pleasure as heat replaced cold. She looked around the alley in confusion - when did concrete become purple carpet? When did the walls turn to black stone decorated with rugs? When did the scattered cubes appear? 

In front of her sat… someone. Or, well, she  _ assumed _ it was someone. It was a body draped in multiple loose fabrics with a hood that covered their face. She was a bit mystified - how was their face entirely blacked out? It didn’t even look like a  _ mask _ , it was just… empty space.

Marinette tried to summon up the energy for defense. She  _ knew  _ this should be a cause for alarm. But she couldn’t, it was like all the tension and stress in her body was melting away. 

“ _ Hello,”  _ a voice said. It was soft and comforting, and the last of Marinette’s caution fell at the sound of it. 

“Hi,” she whispered back, unsure of what else to say. 

_ “I know your story, _ ” they said. Despite the threatening message, it was said with such understanding that Marinette felt no alarm. 

She couldn’t see their eyes, but it felt like the being was staring at her, right into her very soul. 

“… all of it?”

The being raised their hands to hold Marinette’s, gently pulling her down onto a pink cushion. “ _ Enough to know that you are strong _ .”

She thought back to that night in the hotel, eyes blurred with tears when she should have stood guard. “I can’t believe you,” she whispered. It was the truth, although she wasn’t sure why she gave it.

“ _ I can only hope that one day you will. You’re  _ **_more_ ** _ than what you limit yourself to. _ ” 

“I’m a servant of the Demon Heir, a loyal  _ dog _ , a  _ tool _ . What else could I be?”

“ _ List more, Marinette. I  _ know _ you can. What else do you think of yourself as? _ ”

“… I’m Damian’s twin? Batman’s biological daughter?”

There was a sigh, and Marinette felt guilty for disappointing the being. “ _ Marinette, you’re a  _ **_person_ ** _. A free-willed, beautiful,  _ **_human_ ** _ creation with the power to make your own decisions.” _

“I  _ know _ I’m a person,” she said, confused. “I’ve made my own decisions before.”

They gave a humorless chuckle. “ _ Marinette, how many of your decisions have been influenced by Damian? _ ” 

She didn’t know how to reply. Every decision was, from what food she made to how she felt. Damian felt passionate - she felt nothing. Damian needed people - she provided. He asked for something - she gave it without hesitation. 

Marinette flinched, her thoughts interrupted by a hand threading through her hair. It was comforting, but she wasn’t ready to fully relax just yet.

“ _ It’s not possible to give and give without wearing yourself out. One day, you will crash. _ ” 

Marinette had no intention of stopping. She couldn’t imagine a world where she didn’t give her all to Damian, no matter the consequences. There was a moment where that world had the Waffle Gang, Mudamira, and Zil in it instead, but she killed it. She loved them, but they were not who she dedicated her life to. Her fate was to live for Damian and to die for him. She had accepted that long ago, and she would not falter.

_ “You don’t see it now, not really, but you  _ **_do_ ** _ have a choice outside of sacrificing everything for Damian.”  _

“I don’t know what you mean,” Marinette sleepily mumbled. She felt so  _ relaxed… _ she hadn’t realized how tired she was. 

_ “There are options outside of forgiveness.” _

“What choice do I have, other than to forgive? Damian may have hurt me but he only did it -” 

_ “No, Marinette.  _ **_No_ ** _. There is no justifying what Damian did. You can  _ **_understand_ ** _ it, but that doesn’t mean you need to  _ **_forgive_ ** _ it. Please, Marinette. I know that you can’t see it now, but please realize that you are a  _ **_person_ ** _. Please learn to live for  _ **_yourself_ ** _.” _

“I  _ can’t _ .” 

“ _ You  _ **_will_ ** ,” the voice spoke with certainty. “ _ But that discovery is for another day. For now, you should sleep _ .” 

“What if I sleep through Tim contacting me? He’ll go looking for me, and I don’t want to worry him.”

“As long as you stay in this alley, no time will have passed.” Marinette didn’t know why but she believed them. 

And as she nodded off to sleep, she noticed the strange pattern on the carpet. Why were there tiny brains inside of the squares?

* * *

Marinette woke up to an empty alley. The only evidence of her experience was the carpet she laid on and the fabric wrapped around her, decorated with pink flowers and black leaves. She folded both and put them in her Platypus bag, coupled with the scrunchies she had bought and the wooden chopsticks she had stolen. 

She still didn’t understand what the being had meant. 

One day, Marinette would. 

* * *

They were creeping around in a museum, searching for any clues Master Bruce might have left them (… and  _ maybe _ stealing them if they did. They needed to examine the clues closely, after all).

As a servant with assassin training and a teen half-raised by Batman, they didn’t expect to get caught.

In hindsight, they probably should have realized that the first time Tim played bad guy would be the time when things went wrong.

What museum even hired a guy that big?! Especially one that knew how to fight!? 

Marinette was tempted to break a few bones, but she was still banned. Also, he was the good guy. Tim didn’t really want to hurt the good guy any more than he had to. So they were going for a straight knock-out as painlessly as possible.

… Marinette  _ knew  _ she should have brought the sleeping gas! 

The sound of a breaking window filled the room, which was weird because none of them had broken any windows.

As the guard lifted his weapon to hit Tim, a carrot knocked it out of his hand. The Carrot Stalker was here!

A yellow blur passed by them and then the guard was being electrocuted. Marinette winced in sympathy - so much for a painless knock-out.

“Nice going, Zorua!” Someone cheered. Marinette watched in shock as a yellow poof-ball danced around happily. What was that thing? It was kind of… adorable.

Her eyes shifted to the black cat she had seen earlier, then the two people standing next to it. A woman with familiar eyes, and a teen with blue and pink hair. She had a pair of devil horns on. 

Schrodinger and the Carrot Stalker. Her  _ unicorn _ . 

“Hey Bisha BC, it’s all clear. Your tracking skills continue to amaze me,” the woman said, hand on her earpiece. The teen, on the other hand, was staring at Marinette.

“Hello again,” she greeted with a large smile on her face. “Remember me?” 

Marinette looked at her, unimpressed. “My carrot stalker?” 

“Karrot Killer, actually. Double K’s and everything.” 

“But “carrot” starts with a C?” 

“Yeah, but it sounds cooler with them matching letters!” 

“Why carrot?”

“I defeated my younger sister with a carrot!! :D :D I decided to keep the victory in the name :D.” 

“We came as soon as we heard of the struggle,” Schrodinger interrupted, diverting Marinette’s wonder about how Karrot had managed to  _ say _ an emoticon. 

Tim looked confused. “Who are you, and why are you here?” 

“We’re the CS Team. Another team of assassins was _supposed_ to help you, but it’s kind of hard when one is dead, one has a head injury, and the last has multiple broken limbs.” 

Marinette could feel the stares on her. Whoops. Time to shift the attention. “You’re here to help us?” 

“Yep! Sent by Ra’s himself. Don’t worry, we’re not really part of his group, he just paid us to help you out,” the Karrot Killer said, giving them finger guns. It was good that they clarified that. Marinette was  _ pretty _ sure Ra’s only wanted Master Bruce found so he could ruin his life, so it was good that they weren’t a part of it. “I’m Baby Clara, by the way. I feel like Karrot Killer is kind of a mouthful so I’ll spare you the pain. Just cause I like you~” 

“...Baby?” 

Schrodinger snorted as Clara flushed. “Ah! Sorry, just Clara! :D The team used to tease me 'cause I’m the baby of the group. Joke’s on them though because I’m  _ perfectly fine _ with calling myself that.”

“And the rest of you?” Tim asked. 

“You can call me twenty-five,” Schrodinger responded. She picked up the black cat, who was playing with a ball of yellow/orange yarn. “This is BBgirl, our mascot and best kitten.” She noticed that there was a tiny bow on the cat. Interesting. 

“We’ve also got our own computer person! Say hi to Bisha BC! :) :D” Clara gestured to her earpiece. 

“…hi,” Marinette said. 

Clara smiled. “She says hi back! :D” 

“…Okay, it was nice to meet all of you, but we’re  _ leaving _ ,” Tim said, pulling Marinette towards him.

“I mean you could… but I also have information on a certain Red Stripe group~” 

Tim paused. “Why do you have information on them? I thought you were only focused on helping us get Batman back.” 

Schrodinger shrugged, “I knew you were going to waste time on them, so I thought I’d speed things up a bit. According to Bisha, they got the White Stripe involved to seek revenge.” 

Tim groaned. “Of course they got the gunner group involved. Where are they located?” 

“In a warehouse nearby. I’ll show you if you let us join.” 

“We don’t need your help,” Tim argued, untrusting. 

“Yeah well, I want to hug Damian and that’s only maybe possible if you guys survive,” Clara replied. 

“...Why in the actual  _ fuck  _ would you  _ ever _ want to hug that little brat!?” Tim exclaimed, shocked. He reached over to shake Clara. “How unhinged  _ are _ you?!” 

“He’s having a hard time! He clearly needs a hug!” Clara defended. 

Tim looked at Marinette to share his disbelief but she just shrugged. Hey, she was going to take as much love for Damian as she could get. Besides, she was still distracted by the little poof-ball floating around. 

“…Anyways, we should go to the warehouse if you want to minimize casualties and property damage.”

Tim acquiesced with a sigh. “Fine, as long as you don’t murder or cause permanent damage.”

“Heh, wouldn’t  _ dream  _ of it,” Clara replied with an innocent smile. “;)”

Marinette watched as she changed her devil horns to an angel’s halo. Things were about to get  _ interesting _ . 

* * *

The White Stripes never stood a chance. They would also swear they were on drugs the entire night. It was the weirdest goddamn fight in their life. 

A weird punk called Red X fought several of them off with a metal stick and the help of a random black cat. Some would swear that the cat was magical - it was there one second and on someone’s head the next, tangling them in yarn until they could no longer keep their balance. At one point, Red X had yeeted the cat and the next second three men were on the ground. Those three  _ never _ lived it down. 

A woman stood just a few meters away, gracefully moving from place to place. Men would hear the soft tinkle of laughter before a black lamb plushie was hurled at them at full force. They never stood a chance against Twenty-Five’s unlimited supply of weapons, all packed neatly in her flower bag. The lucky few that managed to escape Twenty-Five’s wrath were quickly zapped by an adorable little poof-ball. Bisha BC watched from afar, closing doors and managing phones. The more people they managed to defeat today, the fewer distractions in the future. 

Two girls seemed to dance in the middle of the bunch, laughing as they dodged bullet after bullet. The orange and brown blurs that lead to the unconsciousness of multiple men were hardly noticeable. No one could understand how they won, they brought carrots (and chopsticks) to a gunfight.

By the end of the night, the warehouse was full of people tied up by scrunchies since everyone ran out of zipties and rope. It was a very interesting thing for the police officers to come on to, dozens of men in rainbow scrunchies.

_ _ _

Afar, a being sat listening to the sound of laughter. Yes, they decided. Marinette would one day learn to value herself. It was a day they looked forward to. 

_ _ _

Across the warehouse, an old man paused in his pacing. He could feel the aura - there was a future Miraculous holder near him. He stared as he watched a young girl dodge hit after hit, using various objects as weapons or shields with ease. She slid next to her partner, the two of them fighting well, communicating back-and-forth as they fought.

Yes, she would be a good Ladybug when the time came. 

* * *

Dick leaped from roof to roof, reveling in the cool, fresh air. It was a rare quiet night in Gotham, and with Damian at home, he was able to enjoy a bit of time to  _ think _ .

It had been difficult working with Damian - the kid was used to being the one in control. He took commands from no one other than his Mother. Establishing trust between himself and Damian had taken  _ weeks _ . Or was it months? It was hard to tell at this point. 

Dick wanted to  _ shriek _ . Damian had started to trust him before he began to implement break nights. It had just been a  _ suggestion _ after Damian made a few small mistakes because of sleep deprivation, but Dick would have implemented it eventually even if Damian  _ hadn’t  _ made any mistakes. Kids needed a lot of sleep, and Damian was ten, even if he didn’t act like it. 

Still, it seemed to have triggered something within him. He was working himself to death in fear that Dick would force him off the team permanently for his errors. Because of  _ course  _ he was. Fucking Talia. Fucking League of Assassins. If he ever met them in person, Dick was going to have  _ words.  _ Okay, maybe he’d do more than words. But there would definitely be words  _ involved _ , so it counted.

Dick paused his mental tirade when he heard a second pair of footsteps near him. It wasn’t very loud but Dick had been trained by one of the masters of stealth. He had a 6th sense for sneak-ups. 

“…Little Wing?” He asked, checking for a falter in footsteps or a confirmation.

“You know I don’t like that name,” Jason replied. He didn’t ask how Dick knew - he didn’t have to. 

“Are we finally getting some brother-bonding, or are you still acting like an angst king?” 

Jason snorted. “That’s  _ rich _ coming from you.” He didn’t stop running with Dick. Brother-bonding it was! 

“I’ll have you know that my drama is 100% necessary,” Dick replied in mock offense. 

“And mine isn’t!?” 

“He’s a Shakespeare nerd,  _ none _ of his drama is necessary,” Babs said through Jason’s comms. Dick didn’t question it - this was  _ Babs _ . She had probably hacked Jason’s helmet just to make fun of him.

“Better a nerd than a dumbass,” Jason responded, ignoring Barbara. 

“What are you talking about, you’re both,” Barbara replied.

“I’d say I’m all ass no dumb,” Dick said as egotistically as possible. The silence was his only answer.

“...Yeah I take it back. I’m just going to  _ leave _ .” Jason moved to jump in a different direction but Dick stopped him. 

“Oh, come  _ on _ ! It was just a joke! You can’t leave because of that!” 

“I  _ can _ and I  _ will _ if I have to hear another ass joke.” 

“Fine! No more ass jokes! Even if they are my best qual-” Jason slapped the back of his head, cutting him off. 

“ _ Stop.  _ I do  _ not  _ want to be in another patrol where you and Oracle act all  _ gross.”  _

“We’re not gross, we’re just in love~” Dick sighed happily while Jason groaned. 

“Okay, you know what? We’re having a boys' patrol. No girls allowed. Shoo, Babs.” 

“What are you, twelve?” Barbara asked. 

“If it means no more lovey-dovey talk, then yes, I am twelve. Go away.” 

There was a sigh. “Fine, have fun, boys. Maybe I’ll talk to Marinette or something.” 

“… How many children does Bruce have again?”

* * *

They sat on a random roof, looking at the stars. There really wasn’t a lot of activity happening tonight. It was a bit suspicious, but they trusted Oracle to tell them if anything was wrong. 

“… Hey Dick, the new Robin - who is he?” 

Dick startled, shocked. “Wait, you don’t  _ know _ ?” 

“Well it’s kind of hard to keep up with the news some-” Dick cut his grumbling off. 

“That’s Damian, Bruce’s biological son.”

“...That’s his son? For real?” Jason let out a loud laugh. “That makes sense, I’ve only seen snippets of the kid, but he seems like a real piece of work.” 

“Yeah but he’s a good kid. He just needs some… guidance.” 

“ _ God _ , it makes sense that Bruce’s bio kid would be just as fucked up as he is.” 

“Like the rest of us aren’t fucked up,” Dick countered.

“Heh, I guess it’s a Wayne thing, blood or no blood.” Neither brought up whether it was Bruce’s fault. “So who’s the mother?” 

There was a grimace. “Talia.” 

“… Talia Al Ghul?” 

“That’s the one.” 

“… Dick, who was your first kiss?”

Dick paused, confused first by the sudden change and then by the vulnerability in his voice. Jason didn’t usually care for these types of things. “Babs, why?” He thought that Jason knew this. 

“I think… I think mine might have been Talia.”  _ What.  _

“… You think?” 

“… I can’t really remember. Everything is blurry from the time I was revived to the time I arrived in Gotham. I see random snippets, but not enough for me to fully understand what happened. I just know that Damian looks… familiar. And I knew how Talia looked like the second you mentioned her.” 

“Are you sure you had any intimate relationship though? You may just know them because they’re like, league royalty.” 

“… I think I remember Talia in a few too many compromising positions for there to  _ not  _ be an intimate relationship.” Okay, well maybe they were just sparring and Jason is accidentally taking them out of context? Unless… 

He remembered how familiar Marinette felt. If Marinette wasn’t Bruce’s… maybe she was Jason’s! He didn’t know her exact age so the timeline  _ could _ work. She looked like she was eight, and Jason had been gone around eight years. If he ignored how gross that was, it could work! It’d also make sense for Jason not to remember it… trauma was weird. 

… Hopefully, they didn’t have sex when Jason was sixteen. Maybe Marinette was aged up to… serve Damian. It sounded like something Talia would do. …Fucking Talia. 

“… Hey, dude, are you okay? I didn’t think it was  _ that  _ shocking that I might have had sex with Talia.” 

“… Do you think Damian knows that you might have… ?” He trailed off, unsure of what to call the possible…  _ activities _ .

“How would  _ I _ know? I’ve hardly talked to the kid.” But Dick had. And Dick had seen how Damian had a certain… look, around Red Hood. Like he was familiar with him. Maybe even  _ missed _ him. Oh, no. What role had Jason played in Damian’s life?!

“… Maybe don’t mention it just in case.” 

“I won’t if he doesn’t act like a Lil' asshole.” … He was doomed. Damian was very much a Lil' asshole. 

Dick thought back to Marinette. It would be  _ perfect _ if they were related - if they could connect, maybe they’d be able to help each other out! Marinette didn’t have a parental figure and Jason could be that for her! It certainly wouldn’t hurt to try, right?

“Hey, Little Wing - what do you think about having kids?”

“… Is this about Babs and Kori? Because if so -” 

“No, seriously, what do _you_ think about having a mini-Jason running around?” 

“… That it’d be pretty cool to have a mini-me. But… I don’t think kids are something I should have  _ right now _ , if…  _ ever _ .” 

… He had a lot of work to do. 

* * *

“You know, it’s good to have you back, Little Wing.” 

“Stop calling me that and maybe I’ll  _ stay _ back.” 

“Awww, come  _ on _ ! Accept my nickname of affection!”

“...I’d give you a bad nickname back if your name wasn’t  _ already _ terrible.” 

“Now that’s just rude!”

* * *

~Blooper!~

Mari stared in disgust at the random piles of groceries Tim had gotten them. … It  _ literally _ looked like he’d just grabbed the instant food and anything close to it. 

“... _ Why? _ ” She asked, holding up ketchup, a box of marshmallow chicks, and carrots. She stared suspiciously at the last one, unsure of whether they were the grocery’s or Clara’s. 

“...It’s food?” Marinette glared at a colorful box of cereal. She had her doubts. 

“So we’re just going to eat blocks of cheese??” She asked, holding up three different kinds. 

“I mean, I don’t see why not. It’s convenient as long as we have a fridge.” 

  
...She can neither confirm nor deny chucking a block of cheddar at Tim. Why had she  _ ever  _ let him buy the food?! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chopsticks (Akuten) and scrunchies (...)~


End file.
